


Six

by B_eden



Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Genre: Bondage, Confusion, Corruption, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, First Time, Handcuffs, Hero Worship, Hostage Situation, Hurt/Comfort, Innocence, Kidnapping, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Manipulation, Naivety, Police, Rape, cop kink, maybe rape but it’s more dubious consent than full on rape actually, stockholm's syndrome, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy relationship but it works out so whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 01:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18187775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_eden/pseuds/B_eden
Summary: It took Christian six days to decide what to do with Smith after kidnapping him. It took Christian dropping his guard for six seconds for Bart to get his gun from him. When everything comes to a close, and Christian is in custody, Smith has six hours to try and decide what to do about Christian threatening to tell his deepest secrets before the looming corporate entity will inevitably show up and bail Christian out again.Or the one where Christian is a bad man deflowering all the innocents that cross his path but at least Chief reaps some benefits from it.





	1. Six Days

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna know more about me as a writer and a person, (please follow I get so lonely and insecure) you can follow my:
> 
> Blog: https://caspercrowblog.wordpress.com  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/CrowCasper  
> Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/writercaspercrow

“So, if you’re not a religious man, then why do you dress like a priest?” Smith was sitting cross-legged on the bed as he frowned toward Christian’s armchair across the bedroom with sincere curiosity. The cop’s body language was relaxed and friendly as if they were having a goddamn slumber party instead of him being locked in a bedroom with a serial killer at his latest hideout.

 

 

Christian growled in irritation. “Shut. Up. Always with the questions.” He massaged his forehead before moving to line up more cocaine. “I should have just killed you.”

 

 

But he hadn’t. He had decided to play some mind game with Chief, and it was obvious the best way to crawl right under the man’s skin was to kidnap his innocent, naive little boy-toy. Smith wasn’t seeing the danger in his situation, however. He thought they were making progress. Christian scoffed when Smith opened his mouth like he was going to speak again.

 

 

“Do you really think I took you because I wanted someone to fucking talk to, kid?” Christian whooped as he inhaled the drugs.

 

 

“Well, of course!” Smith’s eye shifted to the side in the way it did when he almost realized he was missing something important that everyone else in the room was catching onto except him.

 

 

“And it’s not because Chief pissed off a fucking mass murderer and the thing that would hurt him the most would be to find your naked and debauched lifeless body in a field somewhere after he panics for a week first because he can’t find you?”

 

 

Smith paled as he shivered. There was still plenty of light in his eyes as he comforted himself and Christian. “No! You wouldn’t do that, Christian. I really think that, deep down, you’re a real cuck!”

 

 

Christian pinched his forehead again as he fought to remind himself the kid thought cuck meant really fucking cool. He wasn’t trying to get on the criminal’s nerves. He cursed Bart for slipping up and saying his name in front of the cop. It was disturbing to a kidnapper’s mind frame when their hostage referred to them familiar. “You know what? Take off your clothes. All of them.”

 

 

Smith fucking giggled. “Why would I do that?”

 

 

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to walk into the living room, wake Bart up, and start fucking beating him until he passes out from pain and terror.”

 

 

“B-but he’s your f-friend! He trusts you!”

 

 

“Yeah, and that’s what I do to my friends, so what do you think I’ll do to you if you don’t do what I tell you?” Christian sank down in the chair as he watched the cop fidget with his suspenders insecurely. “You’re a cop, right? You have a duty to protect people, so protect Bart. Do what I tell you.”

 

 

“B-but why?” Smith pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and pinched at the buttons on his shirt slowly.

 

 

“Guess.” Christian droned as he propped his head on his fist while he watched him. The kid’s shoulders relaxed slightly as if Christian was really playing a fucking guessing game with him.

 

 

“Um.” Smith neatly folded his shirt and then worried his hands before reaching for the fastenings of his pants. “B-because you want to go to sleep, and you know I’m less likely to try and leave if I’m not decent?”

 

 

“Yep.” Christian spat. “You got it.” He frowned when a gentle smile blossomed across Smith’s lips because he thought he’d gotten a simple answer correct. God he was fucking adorable.

 

 

“Why don’t you just cuff me? I mean, the cuffs aren’t comfortable, but-”

 

 

“I’ll do both.” Christian grabbed Smith’s handcuffs from the table next to him and lifted them with one finger.

 

 

The kid’s shoulders hunched insecurely as he continued to hesitate over taking his pants off. Christian stood and walked to the door, and Smith stuttered desperately as he thought the criminal was threatening to go hurt Bart. The cop’s shoulders lowered with a sigh of relief when Christian only locked the door. He truly thought Christian was doing it to comfort him that no one would walk in and see him naked rather than taking note of the danger in the gesture that Christian might want privacy for his intentions. Christian locked his jaw when he felt a warmth in response to the kid’s continued faith in him.

 

 

“You can get under the blankets.” Christian wasn’t sure why he was offering that to him, or why he was moving to turn off the lamp so that Smith was less embarrassed in the dim glow of a tiny nightlight. Smith thanked him with a grin like the criminal was doing him so many favors rather than forcing him to do something so uncomfortable in the first place.

 

 

“I’m not going to leave.” Smith propped his elbows on his knees once the covers were firmly in place. His shoulders were still slightly high with the awareness of the air on his upper half. He watched Christian as he slowly removed his combat boots. “I really want to help you. I think if you’d just let me get closer, we could talk about a lot of things.”

 

 

“Closer.” Christian repeated as he loosened his collar and then dropped his shirt to the floor in a wrinkled pile. Smith’s eye watched his every movement as he stood and removed the rest of his clothes, but the kid didn’t seem to think anything stressful about his actions. “Not polite to drop your sight below the waist, Smith.”

 

 

Smith did tense then, shocked with himself, as his eye darted up to Christian’s face to see if he was disappointed in him. Christian was watching him now with a lot more interest than he had since he’d kidnapped him.

 

 

Christian thought on whether he cared to use lubrication on the cop or just fuck him dry to tear him and hurt him when he raped him. The nagging thought bit at the back of his mind that Bart might hear Smith’s cries and become even more terrified of Christian than he already was, and Christian had a poorly buried hope of eventually seducing the artist. He dug some lube from a bag next to the table and dropped it on the bed, pushing it underneath the pillow on his side before Smith could comprehend what he’d seen. The kid probably wouldn’t have known what it was even if he’d gotten a better look at it. Smith didn’t react with concern. He only continued to watch the priest with an alert eye.

 

 

The serial killer set his gun and the handcuffs on a side table within his reach and lifted the covers to climb beneath them. The kid sank down to lie on his side facing Christian like he thought they were simply having a sleepover and were about to whisper about their embarrassing secrets late into the night.

 

 

Christian scooted toward the center of the bed, but the kid didn’t back away from the naked criminal. Smith watched him with a faint smile and a curiosity that hoped he might learn something about adulting from the other man if he watched him close enough.

 

 

“So, do you have a crush on anybody?” Smith studied him happily.

 

 

Christian arched a brow and hummed almost impatiently. “Look. You keep asking me questions. Maybe I’ll answer a few if you agree to answer some of mine. You think you can do that? Questions can be uncomfortable sometimes, kid.”

 

 

Smith didn’t notice the mischief in the con man’s tone. His brow rose excitedly. “Oh! Sure! I’m an open book!”

 

 

“You say that now.” Christian grumbled. Smith had no clue where the priest planned to take this, and it was making the wolf inside the criminal salivate. “So, you promise that you’ll answer me if I answer you? You’ll answer thorough and completely and not just give me some fucking short snippet just to get more answers out of me? An open book?”

 

 

“Yes! I can do that! I promise!” Smith insisted. “This will be fun!” He wriggled with excitement even as Christian frowned judgmentally at his eagerness. “Okay. So, do you have a crush on anyone?”

 

 

Christian sighed loud. “Yeah. I have a thing for Bart.” He arched a brow when Smith immediately went onto another question.

 

 

“Why don’t you tell him? Oh. Th-that’s two questions...”

 

 

Christian shook his head. “That’s alright. We’re being thorough with the answers, right? It’s more of a continuation of the same question.” Smith’s eye lit up. “I don’t tell him because it wouldn’t matter. He’s my hostage. He’ll respond the way he thinks I want him to respond to the information and not with how he would naturally react to me if he wasn’t afraid of what I’d do to him.”

 

 

“What if you let him go? Maybe see if he’d come back?” Clever cop; trying to talk the criminal into releasing his hostage.

 

 

Christian huffed. “This way, he’s mine. I don’t have to chance losing him.”

 

 

“Yeah, but do you really have him, though? Like this?” The kid seemed to know a lot about friendship and trust, though he probably didn’t realize how well his line of thinking was translating into relationship therapy.

 

 

Christian didn’t like how deep the kid was taking the subject. “That’s enough. It’s my turn now.” A smirk tugged at his mouth when Smith nodded agreeably. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

 

 

Smith blinked in confusion. “W-when I touch myself?”

 

 

“When you jerk off. When you play with your dick. What’s your fantasy? Give me a play-by-play of what exactly goes on in your head.”

 

 

Smith gasped. “I d-don’t do that!”

 

 

“Bullshit. Everyone does it.”

 

 

Christian narrowed his eyes as Smith blushed deeply and looked down to the bed. The blush was almost a deep purple against his monochrome flesh as the red blood in his veins warmed against his gray skin.

 

 

“Everyone, kid. The people at the bank. Everyone you see at the grocery. The library. The old lady in the park probably does it too.”

 

 

Smith’s eye darted up to look at him insecurely before looking away again.

 

 

Christian shrugged. “I do it.”

 

 

“Y-you do?”

 

 

“Yeah. All the time. Sometimes a couple times in a row just to pass the time and take the edge off my tension.”

 

 

Smith pinched his lip in thought. His shoulders had risen all the way up to his ears. He still couldn’t look directly at the criminal.

 

 

Christian locked his jaw. “Chief does it.”

 

 

Smith jolted in disbelief. “N-no he doesn’t!” His full attention was on Christian now as he tried desperately to decide if the criminal was being serious or was messing with him.

 

 

Christian snorted. “Yes. Yes, he does. All the time. Just like us. I’m sure of it.” Smith looked away again and flushed deeper. Christian was onto something. “Everyday. I bet he starts out every morning polishing one off in the shower.” Smith made a small strangled noise as he hugged himself. “Is that what you think about when you touch yourself? You think about Chief?”

 

 

The kid’s mouth dropped open in shock, and his eye opened wide, and it was so goddamn sweet. “H-h-how did you know th-that?” He was clearly terrified that he’d done something to give himself away that he might be doing on a regular basis that would alert everyone around him to the same conclusion.

 

 

Christian exhaled as he fought to pace himself. “I didn’t. It was a lucky guess, but I know for sure now, don’t I?”

 

 

“Oh!” Smith covered his face with both hands even though he didn’t have to cover the side with an eye patch to hide. “P-please don’t tell anyone!”

 

 

Christian didn’t understand why the kid’s distress was making him scoot closer, but he told himself it was because he wanted to further upset him rather than comfort him. “Yeah. I’m gonna stroll right into the precinct, a wanted man, and shout at the top of my lungs how I took a cop hostage, and he confessed to me that he wanted to fuck another cop. They’ll believe me, and I won’t end up riddled with bullets. Besides, kid. You haven’t even told me the details yet. Turn away from me.” He gently pushed against Smith’s shoulder and guided him to turn toward the wall where the bed was pressed against it. “It’ll be easier for you to talk about it if I’m not looking at your face.”

 

 

Smith hesitated at first, still covering his face, but then he turned away. Christian draped his arm around his waist, and the kid didn’t need any more prompting than that to scoot back against him. Christian frowned incredulously and blinked in shock. Smith pushed his feet against the wall to push more firmly back against him, and Christian barely shifted his hips back in time to hide his erection. He wasn’t ready to scare him with that just yet.

 

 

“I knew you were a cuddler.” Smith sniffled, and Christian realized the kid was fighting tears of embarrassment and shame.

 

 

Christian stopped himself from taking it as an insult. He knew enough by that point to assume the kid meant the best. “Yep. That’s me. A cuddler.” He propped up on an elbow so he could whisper his questions right into Smith’s ear. He knew the low volume would give him a false sense of security like the information he was giving the criminal would be safe with him rather than him intending to use it against him right away.

 

 

“So, go on.” Christian’s thumb feathered against Smith’s bare stomach, and the kid shivered. It had clearly gotten to him to think about Chief touching himself while already trying to avoid dwelling on whatever his dirty thoughts about the man were in the first place.

 

 

“I c-can’t.” He whispered. “I sh-shouldn’t think about Chief like that.”

 

 

“Like what? How do you think about Chief?” Christian murmured into his ear.

 

 

Christian made a mental note that hearing the man’s name caused the cop’s heart to speed up and his breath to stutter. He was clearly in love with the man. Not that it wasn’t already clear he worshiped him. “How bad could it really be, kid? It’s just a fantasy. It won’t hurt anyone.”

 

 

Christian trailed his fingers down Smith’s arm and enjoyed the goosebumps that came of his touch as the cop fought to keep his mind out of the gutter. The priest desperately wondered what dirty thoughts meant to this innocent kid. Surely it involved touching Chief’s cock or Chief touching his. “You think about sliding down to your knees, tearing open his pants, and wrapping your lips around his-”

 

 

“N-n-no!” Smith yelped at the image and stiffened up.

 

 

“I can keep guessing, or you can go through on your promise and tell me.”

 

 

 What had upset him about the thought? It probably wasn’t that he didn’t desire to do the suggestion. It was far more likely that thinking of doing something that was so completely unlikely for Smith to ever get the courage to do was sensory overload.

 

 

“You don’t ever get that far in your thoughts, do you?” Christian smiled warmly against his hair, and then he scowled when he realized he was again thinking about how fucking adorable the kid was.

 

 

Smith shook his head and hummed that Christian was correct. “Huh-uh.”

 

 

“Then what do you do to him? Or what does Chief do to you?” Christian grazed his lips against Smith’s ear, and the cop whimpered. “Start slow. Where does this happen, in your mind?”

 

 

“In...in the coat closet. In Chief’s office.”

 

 

“Why do you go in there?”

 

 

“I d-don’t know. We’re just there, because it’s private? Maybe we had to talk about something personal? Or something secret about a case? I had a dream once, and...”

 

 

“And it stuck in your head? That makes sense.”

 

 

Smith’s hands finally began to fall away from his face. He seemed relieved that they weren’t face-to-face. Christian’s hand tucked around him securely, and Smith leaned into the embrace for emotional support.

 

 

“Go on. Are you touching?”

 

 

“Um. N-no. Not at first, I mean.”

 

 

“Talking?” Christian’s breath was warm against his neck. “What does he say to you?”

 

 

“Well, he...he pays attention to me. He’s not annoyed that I’m there. I mean, I think I bother him a lot, but when I think about this, he doesn’t mind I’m there. And he just says things.”

 

 

“Things like?”

 

 

“L-like I’m an excellent cop, and a great kid. Things he says sometimes already, but...” Smith was trembling as he thought on it.

 

 

“But there’s something different about the way he says it? Voice lower? Softer? Closer? Like this?” Christian leaned in to speak right against his ear. “You’re a good cop, kid.”

 

 

Smith’s hips jerked as he cried out. His hand clamped over his mouth when he realized he’d made such a sound, but he nodded his head vigorously. “Y-yeah. L-like that.”

 

 

“And then?” Christian growled when Smith whined in humiliation. “You promised.” Christian nuzzled against his neck. “So, be a good boy, and tell me what happens next.” He had barely finished calling him a good boy before Smith shuddered and cried out again. His head tilted back into the heat of Christian’s voice.

 

 

“And th-that. He says that. A lot.” Smith’s legs were shifting around in discomfort, but Christian fought the urge to directly reach for his prick. Instead he warmed his hand against his stomach and allowed his arm to incidentally run across the achingly hard member. Another small cry escaped the kid, and he bit his lip.

 

 

“That you’re a good boy?” Christian’s arm brushed him again, and Smith began to keen desperately. “That doesn’t seem too far-fetched. You are a pretty good boy, you know...”

 

 

“Oh!” Smith’s hips jerked again.

 

 

“Now go on. Tell me more. Be a good boy.”

 

 

Smith’s fingers clawed against the mattress, and Christian noticed the sound was close to his crotch. The kid was struggling not to touch himself. “And...and then...he kisses me...” He said it like it was the filthiest confession, like it was a final act, and Christian suspected that’s where his fantasy probably ended. Jesus, did the kid really get off on thinking about that old man simply kissing him? That was so goddamn cute Christian wanted to shoot himself in the face.

 

 

“Kisses you where?” Christian nipped at his earlobe and Smith panted at the contact. “Where does Chief kiss you?”

 

 

Smith was gasping between each word. “On. The. M-mouth.”

 

 

Christian gasped like he was shocked. “On the mouth?” Smith whimpered pitifully. “That’s pretty hot, kid.”

 

 

Christian leaned away just enough to press Smith onto his back. The kid clamped his eye shut and pulled his knees up in an attempt to hide his arousal. He was sweating and shaking and still unable to stop the steady stream of desperate mewls as his hands dug at the sheets to keep them away from his aching cock. Christian hooked a knee over him to press his legs down, and Smith turned his head away in denial that he was now obviously tenting the sheets.

 

 

“So Chief takes you in a closet.” Christian pressed his cock against him, but Smith was far too ashamed of his own situation to even notice the other man was affected. “He looks at you like he wants you. Really fucking wants you and loves you.” He arched a brow when Smith’s hips thrust up again. The criminal leaned in and ran his tongue along his ear, and Smith moaned loud. Christian didn’t have any trouble dropping his voice low with a lustful groan. “You’re such a good boy, Smith. You’re _my_ good boy.”

 

 

Smith’s hand clamped onto Christian’s arm, but he clenched his eye shut tighter and pressed his head away harder like he might be able to turn away from the images in his own head. Christian repeated the words and ran his finger along Smith’s jaw to coax him into looking at him.

 

 

“Face me. Over here.” Christian wasn’t surprised when Smith didn’t open his eye when he turned towards him. He was writhing and thrusting in earnest. “That’s a good boy. My good boy...” Christian spoke against his lips before pressing his mouth more fully against his.

 

 

Smith’s mouth dropped open as he called out. “Ch-chief! Oh, god!” His voice was muffled when Christian deepened the kiss, and all his self-control was gone. His hand flew to stroke himself, and he had barely wrapped his fingers around his length before his entire body shuddered with his release. His eye rolled back, and his body convulsed so hard that Christian wound up holding him down to effectively continue the kiss.

 

 

The cop gulped in air desperately as he came down from his climax. “Oh! Oh...” Smith appeared completely shocked with what he’d just done. It was as if they’d been having an innocent conversation about fishing and he was a complete deviant who’d whipped it out unprovoked rather than a hostage who’d just been systematically seduced. “I...I’m s-sorry! Oh...” He shivered again as he turned his head away in shame, shortly followed by turning his whole body with it and curling in on himself in a fetal position.

 

 

Christian sighed noisily as the kid’s trembling tugged at his heartstrings. “Don’t be ashamed about it, kid.” He slid against him and prodded his hardon against his ass. He was sure to keep a firm hold on him when Smith expectedly stiffened and straightened with a yelp. “It was pretty hot. That’s all I’m saying. I get it. It was hard to keep my hands off myself.”

 

 

“R-really?” The naive cop was relaxing against Christian’s body like he really was comforting him rather than presenting a threat he should be concerned over. Smith was quiet when Christian retrieved the handcuffs. He didn’t speak again until the criminal had his hands secured to the headboard and was pressing back against him. “I bet Chief’s really worried about me.”

 

 

Of course, Chief was worried about him. That was why the priest had taken the kid; to fuck with Chief. Smith had been gone for five days. Six days, tomorrow. Chief would know that the likelihood of finding Smith decreased with every hour of every day, the first seventy-two hours being the most vital.

 

 

Chief also knew for a fact, though, that Smith had been taken. He wasn’t just lost or in a coma somewhere about to wake up and everything would be okay. Christian was keeping him this long to make sure Chief didn’t find the kid’s body before the statistic window of dread, about a week, let the man’s hopes keep bristling that he might find Smith alive.

 

 

If Christian went with the dark plans in his head, (which he wasn’t at all sure he was serious about no matter how many times he kept telling Smith he intended to rape him and dump his naked body in a field), the coroner would let Chief know that Smith had been alive that whole time up until a couple hours before they found him. It would eat Chief alive to know that he’d had all that time to find him and had still failed. Chief would have an idea already, with finding him naked, what the kid might have gone through, and it would torment him as he waited on the report to confirm to him what all his little puppy had suffered.

 

 

That little puppy shivered against Christian, then, like he could sense what he was thinking. Maybe he was thinking the same thing; that he was failing in his attempts to talk humanity into the serial killer. Smith went into pretty thick denial anytime Christian mentioned raping him; marking up his insides before dumping him. Christian didn’t know if Smith simply didn’t understand exactly what he meant, or if his colorful heart just couldn’t handle thinking about something so dark. Christian had said horrible things to him here and there as he’d grown impatient, and he wondered how much of it had stuck in the kid’s head.

 

 

“Christian?” Smith sniffled and tried to adjust his eye patch against his arm. “What does it mean to debauch a body? You...you said you were going to dump my debauched body in a field.”

 

 

Christian hummed in thought. He didn’t stop himself in time before he rested his lips against Smith’s shoulder almost like a kiss. He didn’t realize how comforting his gesture might be until he heard a gentle intake of breath and Smith snuggled back against him. He cursed to himself.

 

 

“That depends on the bad guy, I guess.” Christian ran his fingers down Smith’s exposed side before gripping his hip a little too tightly. Smith gulped as something in him recognized the primal gesture. It shouldn’t have been difficult to assess it sexually with the way Christian pumped his lower half forward. “Personally, I’d make a guy like what I was doing to him. There’s just something meaner about it that way.”

 

 

Christian smoothed his palm down Smith’s rear end and squeezed drawing a squeak from the cop. His hand flew up to capture his hips again when he tried to move forward. His fingertips mapped out the dip of his hip bone as he traced his way down his abdomen. He could hear Smith breathing more heavily as he teased contact with his cock, at first not wanting the criminal to touch him, and then being confused when he pulled his fingertips back just short of doing so repeatedly.

 

 

“So, maybe I’d get you all worked up like I did a minute ago, only now your hands are cuffed, so you can’t get yourself off.” The priest opened his mouth against his shoulder in a sloppy kiss, and Smith’s concerned hum vibrated shaky up his throat. His lips parted when it became more difficult to breath as Christian’s fingers continued to barely graze between his legs. “I’d make you beg me to get you off, over and over again, until your prick was sore and raw from all the attention. The whole time I’d make you say Chief’s name like you were begging him for it, because I know you’d like that, and it would make you come for me that much harder.”

 

 

Smith gasped loud. “W-why would you do that?”

 

 

“So, the coroner would see what I did to your dick right before they scooped the evidence out of your broken little bloody ass that I pumped you so full of my come it’s a miracle you could hold it all.” Christian couldn’t stop the wicked grin from spreading across his lips when Smith made such a shocked, high-pitched sound. The cuffs clinked noisily when he instinctively jerked against them.

 

 

“Oh g-g-god...” Smith desperately gulped in air as his body quaked violently, but then he forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath, and Christian realized something. The kid wasn’t completely stupid. He was brave; brave to keep returning to his hope and his light despite all the darkness that might surround him. “Y-you’re s-such a kidder, C-Christian.” He laughed nervously. “You wouldn’t really do th-that. We’ve never f-found a body in that state that you left before.”

 

 

“Maybe Chief just didn’t tell you about it so you wouldn’t fret your pretty little head over something so bad.” Christian was pretty sure he’d never really do something like he was describing, mostly because his first attempt at doing so was actually hurting him thinking about going through with it. Maybe he’d have better luck with a hostage he hated, but then this part wouldn’t be nearly as fun. “Chief really seems to care about you.” Christian’s hands moved across his body, and Smith was trying his best to stay still under the touch.  “I wonder what kind of fantasies he has about you. I bet he has them, you know?”

 

 

“N-no...” Smith purpled across his gray shoulders.

 

 

“Nobody could just take that level of hero worship and not have those kind of thoughts slipping into their fucking head here and there. He probably knows you’d be down for it. He could guess you’d do anything he wanted. You would, wouldn’t you? You’d do any dirty little thing Chief asked you to do? You wouldn’t tell him no, would you?”

 

 

Smith shook his head and then nodded as he tried to decide how to properly agree with what Christian was pelting him with.

 

 

“That’s a good boy.” Christian wasn’t going to use it sparingly on the kid; not when it caused him to moan so wanton every time. Maybe he’d learn a lesson about confessing his deepest fantasies to a criminal, but Christian hoped not. He was feeling less and less like he wanted to stomp out the innocence beneath his fingertips and more like he simply wanted to play with it. Smith’s head fell back, and his hips bucked as he nodded again. He stopped with a whimper as he tried to focus on what exactly he was agreeing with.

 

 

Smith jolted when Christian’s fingers fanned across his nipple. “T-tickles!” He giggled.

 

 

“It doesn’t tickle. It feels good.” Christian repeated the motions until Smith was kicking his feet and keening pitifully.

 

 

“C-Christian?” Smith panted desperately when the criminal flattened his palm against his chest to feel his heartbeat. He swallowed heavily when Christian’s hand began a slow decent down the front of his body.

 

 

“Don’t say my name. It’ll only scare you. Say his name.” Christian traced his tongue along his ear. “That would make you feel safe, wouldn’t it? Saying his name?”

 

 

“S-safe?” Smith looked down when Christian’s hand passed his ribs and his finger traced around his navel suggestively. When he continued his path, Smith sucked his stomach in and whipped his face back up to look above him as if not seeing the inappropriate contact might make it stop.

 

 

Christian growled and pushed forward, and it was only then Smith realized he’d been pushing back against him to try and escape his hand moving along the front of his body. The cop whined at himself for doing such a thing, but then Christian’s hand kept going, and he started to panic.

 

 

“Oh...um...oh boy! Chief. Chieeef...” He clenched his eye shut, but then Christian’s fingers brushed him, and the kid’s mouth dropped open wide with a gasp like he was completely appalled with him for touching his fucking no-no place or something. “Chief...Chief...” He was repeating it like it might really offer him some kind of rescue.

 

 

Christian hummed with interest to find Smith so erect when his fingers curled around him. He tugged his length experimentally. Smith’s mouth rounded into this adorable little ‘O’ as if Christian was being so goddamn bad and he just couldn’t believe it. It made Christian’s mouth open against his skin in sympathy.

 

 

This long, high-pitched, shuddering whine worked its way up the kid’s throat as he realized it felt so fucking good at the same time he was trying to find the words to talk sense and decency into the criminal. He couldn’t quite find it in him to ask him to stop, and Christian groaned as the cop unconsciously rocked against him in his confusion.

 

 

“W-w-what...Christian...oh god...” Smith licked his lips. “S-so what d-do you fantasize about? When you...when you...” He was trying to continue their line of questioning, but his mind couldn’t pull away from the current topic.

 

 

“I already told you what I’ve been fantasizing about lately.” Christian threatened as he pumped his hips forward. “I’m playing it out right now because there’s nothing fucking stopping me.”

 

 

“Oh! Oh, Jesus...” Smith’s lungs were working overtime. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Chief...Chief...” He was searching for comfort like Christian had suggested, but the criminal knew saying the guy’s name was having plenty other effects on his hostage as well as Smith’s head lolled back against him. “C-Christian s-s-stop!”

 

 

Christian scowled when his hand froze. Smith sucked in air more fruitfully in the reprieve. Christian squeezed again, slow and deliberate, and Smith cried pitifully.

 

 

“Ah! Oh...n-no! No!” Smith quivered in the stillness before the storm as Christian’s hand gently left him to rest on his hip. The cop whimpered at the absence of the pleasurable stimulation.

 

 

Christian whispered dark against his ear. “You sure about that?” He smirked when Smith stammered, clearly second-guessing himself. “Well, if you’re going to go right to pointing out the obvious, here, that I’m raping you, I might as well get to it.”

 

 

“Christian!” Smith gasped when the criminal slammed a pillow in front of his crotch and shoved him face down over top of it so that his ass was propped higher than the rest of his body. Things were moving far too quickly for him to understand as the priest reached for the lube and kicked his thighs apart to kneel between them. “No! Christian! No!” Smith yanked at the handcuffs.

 

 

“Be good and it won’t hurt.” Christian promised in a tone that didn’t offer much comfort.

 

 

“B-but y-you said that you’re going to leave me b-broken and b-bloody! That s-sounds like it’ll h-hurt a lot!” Smith seized up stiff when Christian worked a slick finger into his entrance. “Oh dear god please stop!” His shoulders quaked as he sank into helpless tears. “Christian, I don’t like it! Please! Stop! No!”

 

 

“Officer Smith!” Christian crooked his finger and enjoyed the way Smith whimpered in confusion as he brushed his prostate. “Have some dignity while you learn to take a dick.”

 

 

“L-l-learn...” Smith wheezed when Christian started moving his finger again.

 

 

“Sure. I’m just trying to help you out here.” Christian cooed as he smoothed his free hand over Smith’s back in a soothing gesture.

 

 

“H-h-how? OH! NO!” Smith sobbed when the criminal added another finger.

 

 

Christian shushed him and slowed his progress. He didn’t want Bart hearing his other hostage’s distress and getting scared of the priest’s intentions for him. “I’m helping you out, Smith. Man-to-man, here. Honestly, I think you’ve got a shot with Chief.” Smith sniffled as he tried to connect what that had to do with what Christian was doing to him now.

 

 

“A man like Chief, kid, do you think he’s going to be satisfied with cornering you in a closet and kissing you while you come all over yourself?” He warmed his hand against him comfortingly. “I’m sure he’d find that really fucking hot. Don’t get me wrong. I think he’d like that a lot. But he’s going to need a lot more than a kiss to make him get off.”

 

 

Smith began to relax when Christian barely moved his fingers while he spoke. “W-what would h-he need?”

 

 

“I’ll show you, if you’ll be a good boy for me. I’ll teach you how to take his cock in your tight, pretty little body, and you’ll like it. Just think about Chief, is all you need to do. It will make you feel better.” He wiggled his fingers experimentally.

 

 

Smith’s shoulders rose again, and his hands clasped onto the headboard. “I c-can’t. It hurts. Please. Don’t.”

 

 

“Is that what you’re going to say to Chief? You going to tell him no?”

 

 

Smith gasped sweetly as if a teacher was writing his name on the chalkboard for being naughty. He had imagined Chief’s face if he’d said no to him, and it frightened him. Smith shook his head in denial vigorously in an attempt to correct his behavior.

 

 

“You want me to go make Bart take it instead? You want to be a good cop and save my hostage and learn how to make Chief feel good?” Christian let out a long, pleased exhale when Smith nodded. “Then relax. Open up. Push against me. Fuck yourself on me.” Christian wasn’t sure where his sudden patience was coming from, but he didn’t rush the kid as he watched his shoulders slowly relax. The priest’s cock throbbed with interest when Smith finally rocked against the intrusion. “That’s a good boy. Say his name.”

 

 

Smith sounded more than a little guilty for imagining Chief in such a way. His voice was small. “Ch-chief...” Christian’s fingers gently stroked his insides, waiting for him to adjust and working with his comfort. A shudder ran down the cop’s spine when he repeated Chief’s name and Christian moved his fingers in response to reward him.

 

 

“He’ll be wanting to fuck you so fucking hard, kid, watching you like this. It’ll drive him fucking insane wanting to cram his dick in you. What else will you say to him?” Christian groaned breathlessly when Smith pushed up against him harder.

 

 

“Y-yes...” Smith’s hands tightened on the headboard. “Please...more...” It wasn’t clear if he was talking to Christian in general or if he was completely lost in his fantasy, but he panted harder when the criminal pumped into him more steadily. He stiffened when he added another finger, but then he groaned and pushed back against him. “Chief...yes! I w-want it! Want to make you f-feel good...”

 

 

Christian cursed as he lost his control. He pulled his fingers away and lined himself up. “You want it?”

 

 

“Please! Yes...” Smith was already pushing against him. “More. I want it...”

 

 

“Fffuck...” Christian pressed into him only sparing a quick glance toward the cuffs when the cop pulled against them again. Smith was wanting to touch himself. The kid was so fucking sensitive, and it was beautiful. He was desperately pulsing against the pillow to create the friction he needed, but he was distracted from his pleasure when he was stretched more than comfortable.

 

 

Christian knew how to keep him on track. He fell over him to whisper in his ear. “Fucking god, baby boy. You feel so fucking good on my prick. God, you feel so tight; so fucking good.”

 

 

“I...I do?” Smith cried out when Christian angled properly.

 

 

“Fuck, yeah. You’re such a good boy-” Christian’s breath stuttered when Smith slammed back against him urgently and started begging incoherently. “What do you want from me?”

 

 

“I d-don’t know!” The kid wasn’t even sure what he wanted. “I need to come! Please let me come!”

 

 

“What will make you come for me?” Christian accented his words with a few aggressive snaps of his hips. That would probably do it, but Christian was so close he didn’t want to chance getting himself off without feeling the kid’s body clenching around him first. “You want me to come in you?”

 

 

He didn’t even have to keep using Chief’s name in this scenario anymore to manipulate him. Smith was just nodding and pleading with him so eagerly. Christian’s brain was shorting out as the welcoming body beneath him kept pumping back against him as the kid begged so desperately for more of his cock.

 

 

“Fffuck, kid! Oh, god...” Christian growled as he balanced on one elbow and forced his hand around the pillow to grip him. There wasn’t room to move his hand as his own weight pressed down greedily into his body, but the friction the motions were causing had Smith’s dick running against his hand all on its own.

 

 

The cop mewled in abandon as he called out Chief’s name. “Chief! Yes! Please! I want it! Please!” Smith hiccuped when Christian shoved into him deep and groaned with his release. The criminal told him he was coming inside him even as the kid clearly felt it happening to him. Smith’s entire body shuddered as he climaxed hard.

 

 

Christian bit into his shoulder with a loud moan as he felt him emptying into his hand while his body pulsed around his length. Christian was still coming when the kid finished along with him, and it was dizzying to be so thoroughly milked as Smith bucked against him wantonly.

 

 

Christian wrenched his hand free and braced against his elbows to keep from crushing the kid. Smith’s body trembled wretchedly beneath him as he began to cry in shame. Christian was almost pleased with himself, but then the kid whispered Chief’s name again like it finally occurred to him he needed someone to save him. The sound was so heartbroken, so lost, almost like he didn’t think he even deserved the be rescued now for the thoughts he’d just had.

 

 

His voice was muffled as he whimpered. “I’m never going to see him again, am I? I’m going to die? You d-don’t like me? Even though you made love to me like that?”

 

 

Made love? Is that what he was calling it in his head? Christian carefully pulled out of him and unlocked the cuffs with a heavy sigh.

 

 

“Here. You can just have one hand locked at a time. I’ll switch them up later if we wake up so this arm can have a break.”

 

 

“Christian?” Smith rubbed at his arms before obediently handing one hand back to him. His eye darted down Christian’s body curiously just like it had before they had gotten started. “I’m scared to die. Will it hurt?”

 

 

“Not as much as it’ll hurt Chief. It’d be over quick for you.” Christian groaned when Smith’s mouth dropped open in terror. “Look. I’m...I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to let you go tomorrow. If you want Chief to be unscathed, then just don’t tell him I raped you. Tell him you got to me, because you did, I guess. Kind of. I mean, I’m not killing you, so that counts for something, right?” Christian stiffened when Smith flung his free arm around his waist as soon as he’d finished securing the cuff on his other wrist.

 

 

“So, you do like me?” So much fucking hope.

 

 

“Sure. Whatever.”

 

 

“We’re friends? You care?” It was clear Smith thought so, now. It probably didn’t matter what Christian said to him.

 

 

“I wouldn’t say all that.” Christian grumbled. “I don’t have friends. I don’t have time to care about people. There’s no room for that in my life-” Christian’s head jerked toward the door when he heard the distant sounds of a few of his criminal semi-friends that they’d been sharing the hideout with coming in the front door of the house from their latest shenanigans. “Bart! Come here!” He yelled before he fell off the bed and scrambled for his gun.

 

 

 


	2. Six Seconds

Smith was almost amused if he wasn’t so concerned when Christian ignored his pants and unlocked the door in the nude while wielding his gun. Bart was reaching for the handle, and he yelped when Christian gripped his wrist and yanked him into the room.

 

 

“Christian! I think your friends will treat your hostages with as much respect as you do-OH MY!” Bart gasped and covered his eyes when he saw they were both naked.

 

 

“Yeah, I’m sure they will.” Christian grumbled as he locked the door and shoved a chair against it for good measure. He stepped into his boxers. “Put his pants on him. He probably wants a fucking hug or something, too. Go on.” He plopped down in his armchair and began to play with his cocaine.

 

 

Bart didn’t seem to want to turn his back to Christian as he found Smith’s clothes and backed along the bed towards the cop. He was gaping at the criminal completely appalled with what he had clearly just done to the man. Smith’s eye was puffy, but he seemed in good spirits as he thanked the artist for sliding his clothes up his legs. Bart kept glancing to Christian as he buttoned Smith’s pants like he expected the priest to pounce on him any moment.

 

 

“Don’t worry.” Smith assured him confidently. “He got it out of his system. He said he wouldn’t hurt you if I was good, and I was!” Smith’s air was pushed from his lungs when Bart clutched him close to his chest sympathetically and began to pet him.

 

 

“Christian! How could you?”

 

 

“Want me to show you?” Christian mumbled almost too low for him to hear, but he was sorry for it when Bart whimpered and held tighter to the cop. He felt a stab of jealousy. “Oh, you think he’s going to save you?”

 

 

“Do I need saving?” Bart shot back pitifully. He tugged the covers over them as if it offered a barrier against their boogeyman.

 

 

“No.” Christian sighed in agitation. “And neither does he.”

 

 

“Yeah!” Smith offered in an attempt to comfort him. “Christian’s not going to dump my lifeless debauched body in a field tomorrow. He said so! He’s going to take me out and let me go!”

 

 

Bart whined at the cop’s naivety. “Y-you know, Christian. It might rattle that police officer you hate more if you really do release this man unharmed.”

 

 

“Yep.” Christian enunciated before huffing his fix. “So, let’s do that.”

 

 

“C-Christian?” Bart still didn’t believe him. He was petting Smith’s hair and holding him against him like a favorite doll he didn’t want to give up. Smith returned the embrace with his free arm like a pro-hugger.

 

 

“You can even go with me. How’s that? You’ll see.” Christian’s voice was just too dark naturally to make the artist believe he wasn’t threatening to kill them both now.

 

 

Bart gulped when Christian stood, and he unconsciously pushed his back closer to the wall. Christian scowled at him as he dragged the side table a couple of feet from the bed before setting the gun on it so Smith wouldn’t be able to reach it. Bart sank down when Christian climbed into the bed facing them and moved closer. He’d always stayed across the bed from him in the past. The artist thought he was comforting Smith, but he soon found his own face buried in the cop’s chest as Christian lined up flush against Smith’s back.

 

 

Smith’s hand gently stroked his head for a few seconds before it rested too heavily against him. The artist felt steady breaths against the top of his head. He looked up. Smith was sleeping like a baby. Bart turned his attention to Christian’s alert, aggressive eyes as the criminal frowned down at him from over Smith’s body.

 

 

“Christian.” Bart whispered as he braved lifting slightly to return his glare. His tone was accusing, but soft.

 

 

“What? I made him like it. He liked it,” he insisted when Bart arched a brow skeptically. “Fucker came all over himself twice. I only got off once. I was nice about it. He’s not bleeding everywhere, is he? Look.” He trailed his fingers down Smith’s arm and the kid hummed pleasantly before snuggling back against the criminal. “Not even traumatized. Not flinching. I didn’t beat him or some shit.” Christian’s eyes shifted around the room nervously before his attention landed insecurely on Smith’s skin as Bart studied him. “It’s not so fucking bad, fucking me.”

 

 

The criminal slid down against the pillows before he had time to assess the way Bart blinked rapidly in response. Bart started to speak, but then he thought better of asking for clarification on why it mattered to Christian how Bart thought of him having sex.

 

 

The artist looked back to Smith. He was glad for the excuse to get close to someone. His life had been lonely before Christian, and terrifying after. He knew the cop couldn’t do anything to protect him other than negotiate with the criminal, but it seemed like Smith had been somewhat successful in his endeavors to do so. Bart snuggled down against him. For all he knew, it might be the last comfort he, or the cop, or either of them would ever have.

 

 

Christian awoke early the next morning to Bart quietly trying to crawl across him. The criminal’s instincts took over, and he flipped the artist onto his back to straddle him.

 

 

“The fuck do you think you’re going?” He gnashed his teeth.

 

 

Bart’s eyes were impossibly wide. “Just to the bathroom, Christian! I simply have to pee! Which I assure you I won’t have to do for long if you hit me!” Bart’s eyes shifted to Christian’s fist, and it was only then the priest even realized he’d drawn it back. “Please don’t hit me, Christian!”

 

 

They both looked to the side as Smith shook his head groggily. He’d sat up when Christian had leapt over him, and his arm pulled heavily against the cuff. “Blueberry muffins...” He mumbled before he collapsed back against the pillows.

 

 

“H-how long since you’ve fed him?” Bart pursed his lips and tried to ignore Christian’s fist as it slowly lowered.

 

 

“I don’t know.”

 

 

“He’s not free to walk around here scrounging for food like I am.” Bart chided. “Or to shower. Or go to the bathroom.”

 

 

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Stop fucking nagging me, already.” Christian lifted off him and shook the cop to wake him. “I need to wash him off anyway if I’m not going to kill him. There’s no point in leaving evidence if it’s not to make a point. Wait, Bart Don’t go out there.” He juggled his gun while he released Smith. “Let me make sure they’re gone first. Stay with me. I’ll walk you down.”

 

 

He tossed Smith’s shirt to him, and the kid lazily pulled it onto his arms without buttoning it. The kid wavered sleepily as Christian snorted some cocaine. Smith shuffled forward when Christian grabbed his arm and led him along.

 

 

Once it was clear they were alone in the cabin as expected for a few days, Bart decided he would find them some food while Christian announced he was going to shower. Bart thought about being concerned over the officer’s welfare, but a selfish part of him didn’t want to do anything to discourage the criminal from finally cleaning himself.

 

 

The cereal was stale and there was no milk. There were no eggs to make whatever powdered monstrosity was supposed to be on the cover of the food box he found. He knelt on the kitchen floor and rummaged through a bottom cabinet. His hopes lit up when he found a box of granola bars. They weren’t expired!

 

 

The artist frowned and listened when he heard Smith’s voice over the distant hum of the shower. He was yelling Chief’s name. What in god’s name was the priest doing to him in there to make the kid cry out for his mentor so desperately? Bart was still on his knees when he tilted his head as if that might make it easier to hear, but then Smith’s voice became louder.

 

 

“Chief! Oh, god, don’t stop! Fuck! Yes!”

 

 

Christian sounded more than a little breathless. “Louder, baby boy! Make him hear you!”

 

 

“Oh, god! Chief!”

 

 

“Oh! Oh, my!” Bart clasped a hand over his mouth. He cleared his throat when it became clear the cries were of enjoyment and not distress. His face heated as he fought not to picture what the men were doing. Why was Christian doing that to Smith? He didn’t seem to be doting over the cop emotionally. Maybe that just wasn’t Christian’s style in any case. What did Smith have that Bart didn’t that made Christian give into pleasuring himself with him?

 

 

The artist sucked in a breath when he found himself wondering what it would be like to be under Christian’s lustful attention. It sounded...intense. Bart swallowed heavily and hurried into the living room with the box of food where he couldn’t hear them as easily.

 

 

Bart nibbled at the granola as he wondered if Christian was going to kill the cop. Was he really cold enough to murder someone he’d been so intimate with? He’d kept his distance from the other hostages, as far as Bart knew, and he seemed to have no trouble killing them. He hadn’t killed Bart. He kept Bart close to him.

 

 

Bart jumped when Christian barked from the bathroom. “Bart! Close the windows. I don’t want him memorizing any landmarks.”

 

 

The criminal was either serious about letting Smith live, or he was being far more merciful than usual with letting him think he had a chance. Or was that being more cruel than usual? Bart supposed it depended on if Christian allowed the cop to see the bullet coming when the time came. He shivered. Was the artist a part of that charade? Should Bart either feel guilty for allowing the cop to have hope, or feel more fear at the moment that he was about to be killed along with him?

 

 

Smith seemed in an excellent mood as Christian allowed him to eat on the couch with his hands cuffed in front of him. The priest didn’t eat much. He spent most of his time ignoring them while he stared off and then frowning at them when Smith tried to force him into conversation.

 

 

“That’s enough.” Christian stood and shoved a cloth bag over the cop’s head. It was the same type of bag he and his friends used often when bringing hostages to the cabin. None of them ever made it back out. “Come on, Bart.” He led them to the car. “Get in the back on this side so I can see you.” He shoved Smith down into the passenger seat after Bart climbed in behind it, and he cuffed Smith to the door handle.

 

 

The windows on the muscle car were tinted dark, and Bart felt almost safe as he curled his legs against his chest and pretended not to watch Christian while his attention was elsewhere maneuvering the car around the cabin. He rarely had a good angle to watch him so closely. They hadn’t left the long driveway away from the cabin before Christian turned and pointed the gun at Bart’s head.

 

 

“You try anything, Bart, I will shoot this fucker in the head and ram the car into the most solid thing I can find. Don’t buckle up. I want to make sure you know you’ll go flying if you fuck with me.”

 

 

Bart froze up until Christian turned the gun away from him, then he scrambled to remove his seatbelt. The criminal apparently wasn’t comfortable with someone sitting behind him in a car.

 

 

They drove for a long time, and Bart noticed that Christian did odd things like drive over a broken pallet near the edge of the road and curse about how he was glad they finally didn’t get stuck waiting on the train this time when there were no railroad tracks anywhere close to them. Bart started to ask him what he was doing, but then common sense told him it probably had something to do with confusing the cop’s sense of where they might have come from. That meant it was either possible that Christian was planning on letting him go, or that he was going through the motions of confusing him just in case he escaped before the priest could kill him where he had planned.

 

 

Smith didn’t seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings, however, as he continued to babble on happily as if he wasn’t cuffed with a bag on his head in a serial killer’s stolen car.

 

 

Bart shivered when Christian pulled the car to a stop in a field close enough to town that someone was likely to walk by and find a body sooner than later, but far enough away that there were no cameras or witnesses nearby. The cop’s shirt was still waving open when Christian unhooked him from the door and cuffed him with his hands in front. The artist wondered if that meant Christian planned on disrobing him after killing him.

 

 

“You staying in the car?” Christian growled to the artist.

 

 

Bart clenched his eyes shut. “Please.” He didn’t know if his life depended on the decision, and he hated himself for the cowardice of allowing the other hostage to die alone if he had the option to save himself.

 

 

“You’d better not open these doors, then. Stay put.” The priest threatened.

 

 

Bart covered his face but peeked through his fingers as Christian slammed the door and led the cop toward a sitting area that looked as if it had been designed for cheap picnics. He yanked off the bag and Smith squinted in the sunlight.

 

 

Christian pointed down at a rusty grill that had been built into the park. “The cuff keys will be here. When we leave, if you’re not dead, I’d better not see you doing anything but walking in this direction to get them. No fast moves. You take your time.” He dropped the keys into glumpy old ash and grabbed Smith’s arm again. “I see you take off running fast or it looks like you’re trying any fancy shit, I will run you down with the goddamn car, get out, and shoot you in the fucking head for good measure. Then I’ll kill Bart to spite you.”

 

 

Christian shoved him back against a tree and aimed the gun at his head. Smith’s eye widened before he clamped it shut and turned his head away. Bart turned away as well and sank down in his seat to cover his ears.

 

 

“If I let you live, you have to promise me you’ll do something.” Christian stepped up to him and pressed him against the tree with his body. “You have to get Chief alone somewhere, and you get close to him, like this, and you’re going to say something. It’ll be easier if you get him to let you whisper it in his ear so you don’t have to look at his face. Those eyes will make you lock up.”

 

 

Smith whimpered as he started talking about Chief again and exhaling hot air into his ear. He nodded when Christian lifted the gun and wiggled it to indicate he wanted his compliance. Christian cocked the gun.

 

 

“You do want to live, don’t you?” Christian hummed low. Smith nodded again. “So, you say to him, Chief, tell me I’m a good boy, please, and kiss me on the mouth. Tell him you want to be _his_ good boy.” He smirked when Smith’s lips parted into a nervous pant. “You promise?” He clicked the safety on and off to toy with him, and Smith nodded vigorously as his shoulders rose higher. “You’ll do that, Smith, or so help me, I’ll find out. I’ll know. Somehow or another, I’ll fucking know you didn’t keep your promise, and I won’t be happy about it.”

 

 

“W-what if I can’t remember exactly what to say? Should I w-write it down?”

 

 

“Just say something like that, kid, and it’ll be good enough. I’ll let it slide. You have to do it, or I’ll hurt you. I’ll hurt someone you care about. I’ll take it out on my hostage. I’ll hurt Chief.”

 

 

“You can’t hurt Chief! No one can!” Smith proclaimed in disbelief.

 

 

Christian snorted. For some reason he didn’t want to negate him. “Fine, kid. Then Chief will hurt me when I try. You want that? You want my blood on his hands after all you’ve done to work on me? After all the _progress_ we’ve made?”

 

 

“O-okay! Okay! I promise!” Smith shuddered when Christian whispered about what a good boy he was being before he stepped away leaving his body feeling far too cold with his absence. He stared at Christian’s combat boots until the criminal began to back away. He glanced up to find him still pointing the gun at him, and the horrific thought occurred to him that he still meant to kill him. His shoulders rose, and he stayed stiff with his eye closed until he heard the car engine.

 

 

“Get up here, Bart.” Christian demanded as he floored the gas pedal.

 

 

The artist teetered dangerously as he struggled to climb around in the moving car. “So, why this park?”

 

 

“Because it’s next to a field that’s a hot-spot for dropping bodies right next to the river. When Smith tells Chief where I dropped him off, he’ll understand what I could have done to him; how he could have found him.”

 

 

“Why do you hate him so much? Chief?” Bart wondered suddenly if Christian was having Smith call out Chief’s name for Smith or for Christian. “Or...are you infatuated with him, maybe?”

 

 

Christian scoffed. “With that old man? Fuck no! He’s not my type.”

 

 

“Oh. Was officer Smith your...your type?”

 

 

“Not necessarily. It didn’t matter if I was into him or not. It was about the purpose behind it all.”

 

 

“W-which was?” Bart chewed at his thumbnail.

 

 

“I don’t know! What the fuck?!” Christian barked, and they drove in silence for some time before he picked the conversation back up. “Maybe it just pisses me off that the arrogant fuck thinks he knows everything. He thinks he knows me or something. That stupid kid thinks he can save me, which is fucking dumb as hell, but I guess it’s kind of...nice or some shit? It’s not like I believe Smith or anything. It doesn’t piss me off that Smith thinks what he does, but for some reason it pisses me off that Chief is so sure there’s nothing to what the kid says about me. I don’t fucking know. It’s stupid.”

 

 

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all, Christian.” It was adorable. Christian was angry at a stern father-figure type for not believing in him. It was almost sweet how much trouble he’d gone through to get a hold of Smith in some rage-fueled sibling rivalry, and that he’d probably wished he could see himself in the kid until he’d wound up developing empathy with him while torturing him.

 

 

Christian was already defending himself. “I don’t have to justify myself to-wait. It’s not?”

 

 

“No, Christian. It makes sense.” Bart’s voice was so gentle. It was always so soft and gentle when he wasn’t crying in high-pitched terror. Even when he was berating Christian for something, his tone was so patient. “I’m impressed that you didn’t kill him. It was kind of you to let him go.”

 

 

Christian shifted his skeptical frown between Bart and the road as his fingers tightened insecurely on the wheel. The artist seemed sincere. He kept throwing looks at Bart until they reached the cabin once again.

 

 

“Over here.” Christian stuffed his gun in the back of his pants and led him towards an overgrown storm shelter. “We’ll get a few bags of military ration meals out of here, and I need some more ammo.” He scraped at the metal square on the ground that wasn’t visible until Christian pointed it out. He had a lot of trouble prying the latch open before his boots thudded heavily down the rusty stairs.

 

 

He didn’t really need help carrying the three bags he’d gathered, and it’s not that he expected Bart to try and flee. Christian had the keys to the car and Bart had no clue how to find his direction in the thick woods around them. He was too terrified to go out on the porch after dark, for Christ’s sake. Christian just wanted to draw out being close to the artist.

 

 

Six seconds. That’s how long Christian dropped his guard, and that’s how long it took for his hostage to get his gun from him.

 

 

The priest blocked the sunrise from his eyes as he dropped the bags next to the opening and lowered the door back to the ground. He stomped on the metal until it finally lined up with the latch, and then he squatted down to force it closed once again.

 

 

There was a familiar gentle but deadly metallic noise as Christian’s gun shifted against his belt and cocked itself. “F-f-fuck...” He froze. He hadn’t set the safety. His hands shook as he tried to force himself to think clearly, but the noise had already spooked him into panicking that someone else had slipped up on him before he’d realized it was his own fucking gun. His mind was working so fast that it was accomplishing nothing at all.

 

 

Only two or three seconds had passed before Bart sighed sweetly and moved towards him. Christian didn’t process he was moving towards him, even when his shadow moved over him from the sun behind Bart’s back.

 

 

“Oh, Christian.” Bart said it so lovingly, like Christian was a puppy who had gotten tangled in his leash, and that threw the criminal off for another two seconds. Those two seconds had Bart’s hands slide carefully against him as he shifted his shirt around and inspected the gun.

 

 

The gun was moving.

 

 

Bart was touching the gun.

 

 

Bart had the gun.

 

 

FUCK HIS HOSTAGE HAD HIS FUCKING GUN!

 

 

Christian’s heart stopped. Bart was stepping back around to Christian’s side to where the sunlight was behind the artist. Christian couldn’t properly see him to grab for the weapon or to even shield whatever area of his body he was about to unload a bullet into.

 

 

The priest’s legs gave out and he fell the few inches down to his knees as his hands dropped limp at his sides. He squinted up at the artist, but he could only see his silhouette.

 

 

So, this was it? The pain, confusion, and chaos were all finally going to be over. Christian almost felt a sense of peace at the thought, but he still sucked in a breath as he waited for the inevitable.

 

 

“I’ll, um, just set it right here, then?” Bart cleared his throat, and the sun was brighter for a moment as he leaned down to place the gun at Christian’s side with the barrel facing away from them.

 

 

“Christian? Are you feeling alright?” He blinked down at the criminal as Christian tried his best to aim a confused expression at him while squinting against the light. It felt more than a little awkward the way Christian was kneeling at his feet like that.

 

 

“You didn’t shoot me in the face and take the car keys.” Christian noted distantly.

 

 

“Oh! Christian! You didn’t think that...with the gun...that I was-oh! Oh, my! Christian! You should know I would never!”

 

 

“Should I?” Christian scanned the tree line with a frown as if it was news to him. “Why?”

 

 

“Well, we’re friends. Kind of. Aren’t we?” Even though Christian couldn’t see him properly, he knew his shape enough to know he was worrying his hands.

 

 

“Friends?” Christian retrieved his gun, righted it, and grabbed the bags. He clamped his hand around Bart’s wrist and dragged him purposefully into the cabin without remembering to make him carry anything. He led him to the bedroom, whirled him inside and dropping the bags before barring the door.

 

 

“Have I upset you?” Bart instinctively moved toward the door when Christian sank into the armchair and set his gun on the table near his cocaine. It was hard to tell if Christian was more upset than usual since he always looked angry. He usually started gnashing his teeth when his temper was raising to a danger pitch, though, and he wasn’t baring his teeth at the artist yet. “I didn’t mean to.”

 

 

Christian started unfastening his combat boots, but his eyes followed Bart when he neared the door. The artist crossed his arms insecurely and leaned back against the door so it didn’t look so much like he was about to try and move the chair the priest crammed against it in a clumsy attempt to escape.

 

 

Christian stared at him after his boots were unlaced. There wasn’t much inflection in his voice when he next spoke, so it was difficult for the artist to read him. “Take off your clothes.”

 

 

Bart’s eyes widened and he aimed his attention to the floor. “I’d rather not.” His fingers clenched against his arms as he struggled to keep his composure with Christian’s intense eyes on him.

 

 

Bart’s lids fluttered closed briefly when Christian took his time dropping his hand lazily onto his gun and dragging it off the edge of the table. His arm dangled heavy between his knees as he stepped out of his boots.

 

 

“Take off your clothes.” Christian repeated. “And you can get on your back under the blankets.” He watched the artist closely as Bart turned his face away from him defiantly. He was trembling even as Christian kept his voice steady and deceptively patient. “If I have to rip them off myself, I’ll force you onto your knees with your ass in the air, and I’ll fuck you with the gun first.”

 

 

Bart’s mouth fell open as he gasped in shock. “Christian!” His hands fell to his sides as his fists clenched. He wanted him to think he was appalled and offended, but the priest could tell he was more terrified than anything else. “You w-wouldn’t!” His fingers tangled in his shirt over his heart as he fought to breath. He was still refusing to look at the criminal. “C-Christian! If you want me, then you’re going to have to ask me if I want to be had!”

 

 

Christian narrowed his eyes and scowled. “That would leave you the option of turning me down.”

 

 

“Yes, it would!” Bart crossed his arms again. He realized he was playing the brave, feisty, hard to get ravished hostage, and he was almost proud of himself for the image he was projecting. It was really because he was too afraid to do what Christian had said, though, and not because of his courage. He was having an easier time forcing out his words than convincing his body to move him into an even more vulnerable position.

 

 

Bart decided to go along with his stated refusal to be manhandled even when his knees wobbled as Christian stood up. The artist wriggled against the door and commanded himself not to start begging him not to be rough with him. He tried to ask himself what was the worst that could really happen if he made things difficult for Christian, but a list of horrors he couldn’t deal with filed across the back of his eyelids causing them to fly open just as Christian braced his hand on the door next to his head and lifted the gun beside them.

 

 

Christian’s lips were parted as if he was seduced by Bart’s behavior rather than put off by it. “You want this in you, then?” He hummed his words low before slowly pumping the gun suggestively. Christian’s lids lowered lustfully when Bart flushed and gasped before turning his face away from the offending object.

 

 

Christian leaned in towards his lips, and Bart whimpered before turning his face the other way. That left him looking at the gun again and gave Christian access to his ear, which he took full advantage of, as he pressed his lips right against it to whisper more dark promises.

 

 

“It would be cold.” The criminal’s thumb feathered against the handle. “It wouldn’t flex any when I slid it into you; filled you up.”

 

 

“Christian...” Bart’s chest was heaving desperately as his heart thrummed violently, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Christian’s hand as he mimed fucking him.

 

 

“The gun wouldn’t feel anything. It wouldn’t enjoy you, like I would.” Christian ran his lips along the spiral of his ear and Bart exhaled a shuddering breath as he leaned into the sensation. “I would go deeper; stretch you wider. You don’t want this to go off in you.” Bart bit his lip a little too hard as Christian’s voice creaked more labored. “It’d be a lot nicer to have me blow my load in you than this thing, don’t you think?”

 

 

Bart felt Christian’s shirt sliding against his fingertips before he realized he had reached for him. The artist wanted to curl in on himself, but he was backed against a wall. He bent his knee unconsciously, and Christian hissed when Bart’s leg slid between his. Bart could see the priest’s shoulder tense as he barely stopped himself from no telling what he had planned for him. The criminal growled as he nuzzled his face against Bart’s neck and inhaled.

 

 

Bart was terrified, but he realized suddenly that Christian was indeed waiting for something. He was either patiently waiting to see if Bart was going to obey him and deciding if he’d have to force him, or he was doing his best, in his own way, to ask Bart if he wanted him in return by slowing his advances and watching Bart’s reactions to them.

 

 

The criminal was unbearably curious to find out if Bart wanted him, but how could he know? Christian wouldn’t be able to know for sure unless he asked him, because if he continued to act only physically, his threats would still be implied to be the result of Bart’s refusal to go along with his desires. He was sure his lungs wouldn’t listen to him if he ordered his voice to put himself out there so vulnerably, so he was stuck.

 

 

Christian pressed a simple kiss to Bart’s neck before he rested his forehead against the door and focused to steady his breath. The artist’s voice cracked when he hummed pleasantly at the gentle touch of his lips.

 

 

Bart wasn’t sure what insanity came over him to push the man, but he drifted his knee higher up. Christian stiffened and groaned before slamming the gun against the door to box Bart in. His lips dropped back to his neck, but he won the struggle of planting another chaste kiss there instead of biting or sucking greedily. He shuddered with the effort of controlling himself, and the wave of need seemed to travel through him and right into Bart’s own skin as the artist whimpered.

 

 

Christian straightened, but he didn’t look at Bart’s face as he found the artist’s hand and lowered the gun towards it. For a horrifying moment, Bart thought that he might be going to shoot off a finger or put a bullet through his palm to punish him. As an artist, that would ruin his life. He mewled Christian’s name before he felt him press his fingers around the handle of the gun, and then the criminal released the weapon into his hand.

 

 

The priest leaned back in as Bart’s hand fell to the side with the sudden weight of the gun. Christian was close enough for Bart to feel the heat of his body through their clothes, and the priest slid his arms around the artist’s body tentatively to pull him closer. He hesitated when Bart’s free hand braced on his chest to stop him from connecting their lips. The priest swallowed heavy with insecurity as his mouth hovered just shy of the artist’s.

 

 

Christian’s frown darkened, and he tilted his head like he was going to force the kiss. He sucked in a breath and froze when Bart lifted the gun and pointed it to the ceiling easily in Christian’s line of sight. Bart had tilted his head as well, however, and the reflex spoke volumes about what he really wanted. Christian didn’t force him.

 

 

Bart almost smiled as Christian growled so needy. The artist was highly distracted by his proximity as he confessed, “I don’t want to hold this, Christian.”

 

 

“What do you want to do with it, then?” It wasn’t clear if Christian was sincerely asking him where he wanted the gun or if it was a continuation of his threat to fuck him with it if he didn’t do what he told him. Bart was still holding the gun, however, so it made him a little braver. He pumped the gun in answer as if he wanted Christian to fuck him with it, and the criminal’s eyebrows shot high up his forehead.

 

 

Bart snorted as his gentle smile widened. “N-not really, Christian. Can we just...just put it to the side? Please?”

 

 

Bart’s shoulders relaxed temporarily when Christian took the gun from him, but then he realized his kidnapper had his weapon back. Bart’s hands moved to the buttons of Christian’s shirt, and the priest’s eyes darted down to the movement before they fluttered closed at his touch.

 

 

Christian pulled the priest collar away and worked a button free before Bart batted his hands away to do it himself. The criminal’s forehead dropped to Bart’s as he allowed him to do what he wanted. He shrugged out of his shirt when Bart pushed it back over his shoulders, switching the gun from one hand to the other as he let the sleeves fall away. He shivered as Bart’s careful hands splayed across his chest but stiffened when he felt the artist’s lips press to his.

 

 

When his mind caught up that Bart must be agreeing to go along with his advances now, he groaned and slid his hand behind Bart’s head to hold him in place as he deepened the kiss. Bart sucked in a breath at the unfamiliar sensation of being kissed as the criminal’s tongue dipped past his lips and began to explore his mouth so confidently.

 

 

The artist’s tongue only meekly prodded against his as Christian dominated the motions a little too passionately not to frighten him. Luckily for the priest, he was managing to swoon him just as much as overwhelm him. Bart’s hands clasped around Christian’s shoulders to steady himself as he failed to get enough air, and he mewled helplessly when the priest continued to kiss him while walking back with him towards the bed.

 

 

Bart gasped for breath when Christian pulled away from him to set the gun on the nightstand. His fingers dug into the priest’s shoulders when he realized all too late that Christian was making quick work of the fastenings of their pants. The clothing dropped to their ankles, and Bart’s mouth fell open in shock when Christian yanked their lower halves together firmly. Christian took advantage of his lustful distraction to pull Bart’s shirt over his head, and just like that he had them naked. Bart looked to the door and then down at their bodies as he tried to process just when Christian had maneuvered him so efficiently.

 

 

Christian’s arm hooked around his waist as he watched his flustered expression like he expected him to run. Bart considered it, but instead he allowed Christian to remove his glasses and set them next to his gun.

 

 

“W-what do I do now?” Bart swallowed heavily as Christian sank his mouth back onto his. He wasn’t sure how he wanted him positioned, or if he meant to go through on any of his threats. He became lost in Christian’s consuming kiss again, however, and didn’t realize he’d moved him again until Bart found himself looking up at the ceiling from the center of the bed as Christian’s weight settled between his legs.

 

 

Bart’s hands unconsciously moved to push against Christian’s hips as his nervousness and inexperience spun his head into panic mode. The priest gathered his arms and firmly pressed them to their sides to hold him down. Bart whimpered in distress as Christian dragged their bodies together, but then the friction quickly worked to distract him so that he was pumping up against him in seek of more contact rather than trying to lean away from him.

 

 

Christian released one of his wrists to reach for the lube, and Bart followed the motion as much as he could without the priest allowing him to pull away from his kiss. The artist shuddered and closed his eyes.

 

 

“Relax.” Christian slowed his rocking and dipped his face to suck gently along his throat.

 

 

Bart’s head fell back, and he thrust up against him with longing for Christian to go back to moving more steadily. “Christian...please...” The artist hummed in confusion as Christian began to sink down his body. “Oh...” His hands tangled in the sheets as the criminal exhaled against his length before running his tongue against him. Bart arched into the heat with a needy gasp when Christian took him into his mouth.

 

 

Bart was about to warn him to slow down, but then he was distracted from his impending release when Christian circled a slick finger around his entrance. The artist began to tense when he slowly worked his way inside, but then Christian’s throat vibrated around his cock with a hungry growl at feeling his body clenching around his finger, and Bart found his legs falling open wider as he relaxed to him.

 

 

The longer he teased him, the more painful it was for Christian to listen to Bart’s gentle, soft as fucking flower petals voice moaning in encouragement about his attention. The priest’s neglected cock was throbbing insistently, and the ache was bordering on torture every time Bart would leak precome against his tongue. Christian was probably moving too fast when he withdrew his fingers and pulled his mouth off him to crawl back up his body, but Bart only reached for him like he’d been missing the feel of his weight pressing him into the mattress since he’d moved away.

 

 

The artist cried out when Christian slid inside him all at once, but the priest couldn’t stop himself from taking him. Bart’s muscles relaxed when Christian cursed and released a long slew of overly impassioned noises as he felt his heat finally enveloping him like he’d wanted for so long. He didn’t want to admit how long he’d wanted him and not taken him. It seemed insane now that he’d spent a single moment not buried deep in Bart’s body.

 

 

“Fuck...oh, god, fuck, Bart...” Christian’s arms shook so violently that he had to bend his knees to help support his weight from crushing the artist. The motion spread Bart wider and the criminal immediately pressed forward deeper into him. “Fuck...” Christian went still and whined as he fought not to empty himself right away. “Come for me.” It sounded more like pleading than instruction, and Bart’s hand immediately reached for his cock.

 

 

Bart’s body writhed against him, and Christian panted with the effort of holding out. When he’d finally gathered himself enough to move, he angled carefully to make each thrust count towards Bart’s release. He thought he had control over his arousal, but when he pulled back slow, his hips slammed back into place far too aggressively. Bart jolted, but a pleasant sound escaped him, and his hand sped up, so Christian repeated the motion. When he got the same result, Christian groaned and began to drill into him steady and forceful.

 

 

“C-Christian! Oh, god! Fuck!” Bart’s eyes were going out of focus and Christian was sure he was going to lose his fucking mind if he didn’t feel the artist’s body convulsing around him soon. “I’m going to come! Christian!” But for some reason Bart let go of his prick and grabbed onto Christian’s arms instead.

 

 

That was all the resolve Christian had, and he was going to let it go inside him and finish him up afterwards if he had to. Bart’s body went completely lax as he allowed Christian to fuck him even harder as he pushed himself to climax. The artist’s mouth fell open in a silent cry as the persistent thrusting warmed his passage uncomfortably so. Bart’s fingers went numb and his arms fell out to his sides as his head lolled to the side.

 

 

Christian was far too pleased with the sight of the artist’s body jostling beneath him as he pounded into him. He was working himself right on the edge when Bart choked and weakly clenched the pillows. At the same time, Christian felt his body convulsing around him, and he looked down in time to watch Bart’s cock pulsing thick white streams up his stomach.

 

 

“Oh, god, baby...fuck...fuck...” Christian’s orgasm tore through him hard enough to blind him as he rode the artist through wave after euphoric wave of their release.

 

 

Bart was mewling with over-stimulation by the time Christian’s hips slowed and he pressed into him more firmly. Christian’s ears were ringing, so it took him a moment to realize Bart’s breaths were shuddering somewhere between laughter and tears. He tucked his arms under him and kissed along his face and neck to comfort him.

 

 

“You’re alright.” Christian’s voice was so much gentler than he’d ever heard it, and Bart was encouraged to force his limp arms up to cling to him. Christian felt a twinge of guilt. What he’d done to him had probably been more frightening than seductive. Bart was reacting like he’d been murdered rather than made love to. “I’ve got you.”

 

 

“Christian...” Bart wheezed.

 

 

“Yeah, I know. I’m a bastard. I’ll be more careful next time.”

 

 

“Next time?” Bart fought for air. “Christian...I like you as more than just a friend.” He dared his confession. He wasn’t going to find a time where Christian was more relaxed or friendly than at that moment.

 

 

Christian stiffened, but then he tucked his arms tighter around him. “Okay.” He cleared his throat. “S-same. Same here.” Bart squeezed him as he quivered pitifully with the returned affection. Christian found it more endearing than pathetic as he feathered his thumbs against the artist’s skin to soothe him.

 

 

Christian wondered if he would have been nearly as aware of his feelings for Bart if it hadn’t been for that stupid cop. He wondered distantly what might be happening on Smith’s side of town.

 

 

 

 


	3. Six Hours

“Chief. Maybe you should go home and get some rest.” The concerned officer rested a hand on the man’s shoulder as he pocketed his flask.

 

 

Chief ran his hands through his hair helplessly. “I have to find him.” He returned to pacing across the precinct like a caged animal ignoring the worried glances from the other officers.

 

 

It had been six days. Chief knew that meant the kid was probably long dead. They hadn’t received any demands for a trade off or ransom. The priest hadn’t mailed them a finger or a video of the kid being tortured. Chief knew the serial killer had taken Smith to prove some kind of point to him, and his heart was breaking that he couldn’t even find them to spill out the extent of his regret and apologies to the bastard. Not that it would work, but he could at least try if there was a line of communication.

 

 

Worst of all, the entire precinct kept forgetting that the priest existed at all. Chief would fall asleep at his desk for a few hours and wake up to find the search for Smith had been abandoned. They all thought the kid was going to walk in the door ready for work any moment. He’d have to explain to them all over again that Smith had been kidnapped by a psychopath that they had no recollection of. He’d watch the horror dawn on them with the new information as they’d scramble to do what he insisted they’d last been doing to try and find the kid only hours before.

 

 

“Has he really been gone almost a week, Chief?”

 

 

Chief froze as he looked to a smug detective leaning against a wall watching him. “He’s not dead!” Chief spat. He had to be alive. Chief couldn’t live with himself if anything bad happened to the kid. The detective arched a skeptical brow, and Chief locked his jaw barely stopping himself from punching the guy. He turned away from him and looked toward the front door as familiar body language drew his eyes there.

 

 

Just like that, Smith had walked right in the door with a tired smile.

 

 

The entire world stood still as Chief gaped across the room at the kid’s disheveled state. His shirt was untucked, and the buttons were lined up crooked by one button. His suspenders were hanging loose at his sides, and his clothes were wrinkled and dirty. There was no blood. Thank god, there was no blood. His hair was a mess, and there was a dark circle around his eye that was either from a lack of sleep, or crying, or fear, or possibly all those things.

 

 

The busy noises of the precinct were distant to Chief as he moved towards him. The gentle tapping keyboards, the papers rustling, the steady wave of numerous conversations, were all nothing to Smith’s voice as he spotted Chief and his eye lit up.

 

 

“Hey, Chief!” Smith’s grin looked a little more goofy than usual in his exhausted state, and his hand was almost limp as he waved at him. Smith’s air escaped him when Chief’s strong arms clamped around him and he clutched him against his body tightly. Smith was overwhelmed by all the mature scents of a man who takes good care of himself and the heavy scent of liquor. When Smith got over the initial shock of Chief hugging him, his hands clasped onto him in return.

 

 

“Oh my god! Smith is back! He’s alive!” The excited murmurs rolled across the ocean of cops, but Chief couldn’t be bothered to let him go as all eyes turned to them. Nothing could tear the kid away from him at that moment. He tightened his grip as their words sank in. _Smith is alive. He came back. He’s alright. He’s safe._

 

 

Smith burst into tears. All the stress finally caught up with him. He’d been a hostage to a madman for almost a week, and now he was in Chief’s arms. The tears came heavy as his fingers clenched in Chief’s clothes. Then there were another set of arms around him, and another, and another. All the hugs he gave out so freely were coming back to him as the other officers circled them grateful that Smith had returned. His sobs melted into grateful laughter.

 

 

The next day, no one other than the two monochrome cops remembered anything about the incident. Chief watched the kid respond to everyone’s ignorance with confused and exasperated amusement. He was a survivor, and he was going to thrive despite what had happened to him. Chief swallowed a lump in his throat as he remembered where Smith had said the priest had dropped him. It had been an obvious threat. He hadn’t killed the kid, though. Why?

 

 

“Ch-chief?” Smith cleared his throat when Chief jolted at his sudden presence.

 

 

“Yeah, kid?” Chief studied him as Smith played with random objects on Chief’s desk. Ever since he’d come back, the kid kept doing this. He kept acting like there was something he needed to get off his chest, or maybe he had questions that needed to be answered, but he lost his nerve every time. Chief tried to seem as approachable as possible, but it didn’t work. Smith paled whiter than normal before he stammered that it was nothing and strode away from his desk.

 

 

It was almost two weeks before the priest messed up and got himself caught. He sat cuffed to a table and glanced from Smith to the two-way glass and back again.

 

 

Smith smiled in encouragement as he dialed the number on Christian’s phone that the criminal had asked him to. It was labeled Oculus. “Yes? Is this Christian’s lawyer? Good! Yeah, he’s at the precinct. He says to hurry up, but I think he’s just nervous and not trying to be rude.” Smith hung up. “There you go! See. Everything’s going to be alright.”

 

 

Christian sighed at how easy it had been to manipulate the kid into calling the looming corporate entity that was now going to come down to the precinct and wipe the minds and evidence of anything having to do with Christian. They would have come anyway, but now Christian wouldn’t have to wait as long while fretting that Chief was going to get him alone and beat the life out of him.

 

 

Speaking of Chief. “Did you do what I told you, kid?” Christian locked his jaw when the kid looked down ashamed. “You didn’t.”

 

 

“I’m going to! I really will! It’s just...hard.” Smith’s fingers poked at his suspenders as he worried. “Y-you aren’t going to tell him, are you?” He searched Christian’s merciless glare. “Please don’t.” Smith looked down again. “I’ll...I’ll do it. Really, I will. I j-just need a little more time.”

 

 

“Well, you’ve probably got about six hours. That’s how long I’m usually here. It’s been two hours already, so that leaves you with about four. Better get him cornered, kid.”

 

 

Chief swiped a stack of papers off the nearest desk. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE CAN’T HOLD HIM FOREVER?!”

 

 

The commissioner looked genuinely confused. “He only ran a red light. What’s the big deal? We don’t have anything on the guy to keep him in custody. You should know this.”

 

 

“HE’S A ROBBER! A MASS-MURDERER! HE FUCKING KIDNAPPED SMITH AND THERE’S STILL NO TELLING WHAT ALL HE DID TO THE KID!” Chief growled when the commissioner tilted his head in bewilderment.

 

 

“M-maybe you should take the rest of the day off-”

 

 

Chief threw his hands up and shouted in frustration. He took a breath to steady himself and pinched his forehead. “I just need to ask him a few questions first. Where’s his hostage?”

 

 

“What hostage? You mean the guy in the car with him? He has a panic disorder. He’s in another room and all he does is cry, the poor kid. We’re scaring the life out of him keeping him here. The sooner we let them out of here, the better for everyone.”

 

 

Chief stormed to the holding room and brooded through the two-way glass. “Who let Smith in there with him?!” He panicked. The kid was sitting across from the criminal, and he looked terrified as he trembled under the wolfish attention of the serial killer.

 

 

“Why wouldn’t we let him in there?” A female officer shrugged. “It was just a simple traffic violation. Why are we cuffing him again?”

 

 

“LEAVE HIM CUFFED!” Chief threw open the door and rounded to the holding room.

 

 

Christian’s eyes widened when Chief kicked the door open hard enough for it slam against the wall and rebound. His blood ran cold as the cop locked his stern jaw and his hard stare landed on him pointedly. The priest instinctively looked to the kid across from him. “Smiiiith...” Christian pleaded as he tugged against the cuffs. Chief took long strides towards him. “S-smith! SMITH!”

 

 

He wasn’t sure what the kid was supposed to do to save him, or why on earth he might choose to do so, but he kept saying his name as he slid down out of his chair onto his knees. He tried his best to shield his head from abuse while his wrists were still attached to the table in front of him.

 

 

The priest was sure he was about to feel punishment, but instead he realized the weight against him was Smith’s body covering him. Christian whined in confusion and relief as Smith began to plead with the experienced cop. The kid’s chest protected his head, and his arms scrambled out to shield Christian’s hands when Chief’s bad intentions landed on the trapped and exposed limbs like he was going to crush them. Smith’s hands weaved into Christian’s as the criminal unconsciously grasped for something to hang onto for support.

 

 

The commissioner waltzed in with the keys to the cuffs. “What’s going on in here? Chief! You need to get a hold of yourself!” Chief gaped at him as he apologized to Christian and unlocked his hands.

 

 

Christian laughed nervously. “It was j-just a misunderstanding, is all. We’re good in here. Right, Chief?” He rubbed at his wrists as he pulled his chair back into place, but he grabbed onto Smith’s arm when the kid tried to move away. He aimed an almost smug look at Chief until he realized the commissioner was leaving the room again and they were still keeping him there for a time. He gulped as the door closed.

 

 

Chief’s eyes were on Christian’s hand touching Smith. He gnashed his teeth and moved toward him as he lost his temper again. Christian hopped to his feet and stepped behind Smith, and it made Chief reach for his goddamn gun.

 

 

“Wow! Wow!” Smith’s hands went up as Chief aimed the gun just to the side of them. “Ch-chief!”

 

 

Christian knew Chief was a good shot. He also knew the guy had shot Smith before. He had no illusions that he could manage to somehow turn the situation in his favor by taking Smith’s weapon and holding the kid hostage again. Instead, he ducked his head behind the kid’s back and pulled them against the wall.

 

 

“Ch-chief, don’t shoot me!” Smith cried, and it broke the older man’s heart.

 

 

“Fine. I won’t hurt him. I promise.” Chief swallowed heavily as he watched Christian’s arms clamped around Smith’s chest. He could so easily drop his hands to Smith’s gun. “But come away from him before he gets your gun and you get me killed. I’ve got enough to worry about here, kid, without having to babysit you right now.”

 

 

Smith’s shoulders dropped as he gasped in emotional pain. He believed Chief when he’d said he wouldn’t hurt Christian. The priest wasn’t so sure about that, but he let Smith go because he knew that Chief had just landed a blow on the kid that was going to reduce him to tears, even if Chief didn’t seem to notice it. Christian winced when Chief’s eyes were back on him. He watched Smith hurry out the door while wiping his palm against his eye.

 

 

“W-why would you do that to him?” Christian accused. His best bet for safety was to get Chief preoccupied for the time it took Oculus to come get him out of there. “You hurt his little fucking feelings, you bastard.”

 

 

“Don’t act like you care, you piece of shit.” Chief still hadn’t put his gun away, and Christian pressed back against the wall. “Not after what you put him through.”

 

 

Christian huffed. “Oh, you have no idea what all I put him through, do you? Did you ask him? He tell you about it?”

 

 

Chief didn’t like how suggestive his tone sounded. “He’ll tell me when he’s ready. Or maybe I’ll force it outta you.” He cocked the gun as it dangled at his side.

 

 

“No.” Christian gulped. “Trust me. You want to ask him about it. You want to ask him somewhere safe and private, and you want him to tell you what all we talked about. I can tell, Chief. I can tell you’d want to hear it.”

 

 

Chief’s frown darkened. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Was he suggesting that he’d sexually abused Smith, or did the priest somehow know that Chief had a twisted thing for the kid that wasn’t all platonic? Chief felt suddenly far too transparent.

 

 

Christian shrugged. “You hurt him just now worse than I did the whole time I had him.” He relaxed completely when it hit the mark and Chief’s brows rose in guilt.

 

 

“Maybe I throw some questions at your hostage.” Was Chief threatening revenge? He wouldn’t hurt Bart, would he? More likely he’d try to use common sense to talk Bart out of loving him. Christian’s heart thrummed dangerously at the thought.

 

 

“Y-you leave him out of this, old man.” Christian didn’t mean to sound so protective. “Hey! No!” Christian scrambled across the room, but he was too late as Chief slammed the door firmly closed behind him. “CHIEF DON’T YOU FUCK WITH HIM!” He tripped over to the two-way glass and pounded on it. “STOP HIM!”

 

 

Chief was further confused when Christian reacted so vulnerable when he threatened his hostage. The criminal was getting into his head; trying to throw him off, and it was working. Chief wasn’t going to be able to focus to question the hostage. His mind was too distracted now with finding Smith and making sure he was alright. He spent half an hour searching the precinct before he finally started asking people if they’d seen the kid.

 

 

“He said he didn’t feel well and was going home.” The receptionist cooed sympathetically. “The poor guy looked pretty white. I think he’s sick.”

 

 

Chief felt sick with himself. The kid had been traumatized and was still bravely facing the serial killer while holding onto his bright hope for the world around him, and Chief had pretty much told him he was in the way; had even acted like it might have been his fault he was kidnapped in the first place.

 

 

Ten minutes later he was banging on Smith’s door to no avail. The kid wasn’t answering. He tried the doorknob on a whim. Sure enough, the kid didn’t lock his front fucking door. Chief sighed as he let himself in.

 

 

“Smith?” He looked around the empty apartment.

 

 

“Chief?” Smith’s voice echoed down the hallway, so he headed that way.

 

 

Chief stopped in Smith’s bedroom doorway. The kid was curled up in his bed looking over his shoulder at him as he wiped at his teary eye. He had a blanket over him rather than being under the covers, and he turned back to wrap his arms around this giant fucking teddy bear. The stuffed animal was half the size of Smith, and it had a shamrock on the front. Chief guessed the fuzzy thing would probably be green if it wasn’t in the range of their monochrome. Smith didn’t seem to be ashamed at being caught cuddling a doll. He burrowed his face in it and let out a shuddering sigh that told he’d been sobbing his heart out.

 

 

“Chief, I’m sorry.” Smith’s shoulders rose as he cuddled the bear tighter. “I don’t mean to be in the way.”

 

 

“You’re not in the way, kid. I was just being an ass because I’m frustrated that it looks like the priest is going to slip through our fingers again.”

 

 

“Did...did you talk with him?” Smith wasn’t completely sure that the criminal truly meant to give him more time to do what he’d told him.

 

 

“Not much. I’m more concerned about you.” Chief’s heart ached for him. He was so fucking adorable and pitiful curled up there. He sighed and stepped out of his shoes.

 

 

Smith peeked over his shoulder when he felt the bed dip with Chief’s weight as he scooted up to him. Chief nudged at several other stuffed animals so that he could rest his head directly on the pillow. The kid sucked in a breath when Chief’s arm draped over him, and he quickly warmed back into the embrace. Chief usually only let him hug him on holidays or special occasions. He never just hugged _him_ , except when he’d walked into the precinct a week or so ago.

 

 

Chief sighed again. “You’re a good cop, Smith. You’re a good kid.” His voice was far too close to Smith’s ear, and he shivered all the way down his spine and through his legs until his feet kicked.

 

 

“Ch-chief?” Smith gulped nervously. It was the same tone he kept using when he was doing the thing where he kept trying to tell Chief something.

 

 

“Yeah, kid?” Chief softened his voice to encourage him to communicate. He didn’t expect him to answer, but maybe now that he didn’t have anywhere to run to, he would get the nerve to at least give him a clue. Chief loosened his grip when the kid began to squirm. He thought he was going to get up and retreat somewhere in his own house, but then he turned towards him.

 

 

Smith’s fingers clenched against Chief’s jacket, and he looked at his tie instead of his face. Chief felt more than a little hot when Smith kept wriggling with their bodies flush against each other. Their faces were so close, and he found himself watching Smith’s mouth in anticipation of him speaking.

 

 

“Chief...” Smith murmured again. He opened his mouth to speak, but then clamped it shut.

 

 

“Go on, kid. Spit it out.” Chief’s expression warmed when Smith’s eye darted up to study his face. He arched a brow when Smith’s attention landed on his lips for too long before he looked away. Chief shifted his hips back even though their crotches weren’t touching. He didn’t want to chance the kid brushing against him and discovering what that wriggling was doing to him.

 

 

Chief’s lips parted in question when Smith leaned in to speak right against his ear. Holy fucking hell he was going to whisper a secret to him even though they were alone and if that wasn’t the cutest fucking thing. Chief didn’t realize his hands were clenching against the kid until Smith stiffened wondering if he was making him angry. Chief flattened his palms and warmed his hands along him instead to encourage him.

 

 

Smith panicked as he lost his nerve again. He only managed to whisper Chief’s name in his ear, which he didn’t notice caused goosebumps to flare down his neck, before the kid sank back against the mattress. Smith sniffled before he broke down into tears. If he didn’t tell Chief about his filthy desires, Christian would do it. It was better his hero hear it from him, wasn’t it?

 

 

Maybe not. Maybe he should just let it play out and see if Chief wouldn’t believe the priest, or if he would just pretend it didn’t happen. After that, though, Chief would look at him in a new angle unconsciously watching for signs that it was true. He was super observant. He’d surely notice there was more on Smith’s mind than looking at him with adoration aimed at a father-figure.

 

 

Maybe Smith didn’t want it to be a secret anymore, anyway. It was killing him inside wanting Chief so hard for so long. Then there was a new issue that Smith had to deal with. Christian had planted these insatiable desires in his head. He’d introduced him to fantasies and feelings that quickly consumed his innocent mind, and when he tried to douse that blaze out on his own, it only made the fire burn out of control.

 

 

Smith had already been trying to use touching himself as a tension release now that Christian had said he did so, but it only seemed to make his desires more intense. He flushed at the memory of what he’d done as soon as he’d gotten home. He was lucky Chief hadn’t followed him right away or he would have walked in on him fucking himself with the muscle massager and lube he’d gotten from a dirty little store that had scared the crap out of him two days after Christian had freed him. He’d been calling Chief’s name.

 

 

Chief’s hand stroked his back as Smith sobbed harder and glanced up at him with what almost seemed to be guilt before aiming his eye back to his chest. “Look, kid. Whatever you’ve gotta say, it’s alright. It can be just between us.”

 

 

Did he lose evidence? Did he think he’d ruined something? Did the priest tell him something weird about human nature that he needed clarification over now? Is this about the whole cuck thing? Did Christian clarify it for him, and now he thought Chief didn’t know what it meant, and he had to tell him? Chief’s mouth twitched into a smirk.

 

 

“Hey. Kid. Really. I won’t be mad. I won’t judge you. Everything’s safe here. It’s just us. Me and you.” Chief grunted when Smith fell flush against him to cry in his chest. His arms wrapped around him tightly, and Chief sucked in a breath when Smith’s leg bent and ran between his legs.

 

 

Chief blew out a lungful of air as he discretely maneuvered the kid’s leg back down. If it had been anyone but Smith, Chief was pretty sure he would’ve been found out just then, but it seemed like the kid usually didn’t have a mind to look for things like that.

 

 

Then again, Smith had stopped crying and gone awfully still. Had he scared him? Smith’s fingers were flexing against Chief’s jacket as he sniffled. A quiet Smith was a busily-thinking Smith; a full-of-questions Smith. He wasn’t asking them, though. Chief waited for them just the same.

 

 

Chief wasn’t sure if he wanted to release him when Smith suddenly sat bolt upright, but the kid didn’t move to leave the bed. Chief blinked rapidly as Smith tore his own shirt off. He didn’t need to jump to conclusions. The kid often confused Chief this way doing completely naive things that came off to Chief’s experienced brain as suggestive. Smith probably had some kind of question about his body or if he was fit to be a cop, and that apparently required him to throw off his pants and underwear as well.

 

 

“S-smith?” Chief arched a brow as he cursed his rebellious cock for completely ignoring that this was not the time for its bullshit. “Maybe you should use some words, kid. I’m starting to get a little confused here.”

 

 

“Words? I can do that.” Smith nodded as if he knew the correct words. After all, Christian had made him repeat plenty of words to say to the man. Smith’s body landed back in place and he gripped Chief’s shirt. His expression was desperate. “Chief?” He gulped and went quiet.

 

 

Maybe he didn’t know the right words after all. He whined as Chief continued to hold his hands up like Smith needed to see them to know he wasn’t touching him. The small sound in combination with the tears pooling in his eye made Chief reach for him again. Chief’s heart thrummed so loud he could hear it in his eardrums when he felt naked skin against his hands.

 

 

“Oookay.” Chief hummed. “Why don’t we start with why you just got naked?” He lifted slightly to pull the little blanket back over top of them. His divided attention emboldened the younger cop.

 

 

“IwanttobeyourgoodboyChiefkissmeonthemouthpleasefuckme.”

 

 

Chief froze, but then he decided he must have heard him wrong. He pressed his lips in a thoughtful line as he tumbled the sounds around in his head. “I didn’t catch all that. You want...what now? Something about a good boy?”

 

 

“Your good boy.”

 

 

“I’m a good boy?” Chief scratched his head. “Is this about the good cop bad cop routine thing?” Chief seized up stiff when Smith framed his face in his hands and slammed their lips together firmly. His pounding heart skipped several beats as his lungs stuttered to a halt. His eyes were wide in shock as he struggled not to read into the situation for everything it was looking to be. There was no way the kid meant what Chief thought he meant.

 

 

Then Smith’s tongue was tickling against his lips and Chief couldn’t take the confusion anymore. His hand slid along Smith’s jaw and he took over the kiss, growling with interest when Smith immediately opened to him and thrust his hips forward. The younger cop mewled gratefully as Chief lowered him back and leaned down to follow him. Chief’s eyes flew open when he felt Smith tearing at his belt.

 

 

“Smith-”

 

 

“Tell me I’m a good boy. Please, Chief. Am I?”

 

 

“S-smith-” Chief’s hands shook as they hovered over Smith’s as the kid pressed his pants open. He wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want him to feel rejected, but he was still trying to figure out just what was happening here and why. His failure to act landed Smith’s hand tucking beneath his waistband and wrapping around his cock. “Fuck...yes.” Chief’s eyes rolled back as his brain decided to do whatever it was told. “You’re a good boy.” Smith’s hand tightened with excitement over hearing it, and Chief groaned at the pressure.

 

 

“Fuck me.”

 

 

“W-what?” Chief sobered as Smith shoved him onto his back and climbed over top of him. Holy shit what the fuck was happening? He’d gone insane. Smith had lost his goddamn mind. Where did the real Smith go? “K-k-kid you need to slow down or you’re gonna hurt yourself. Smith. Smith-HOLY FUCKING SHIT-” Smith slid down around his cock and all Chief could do was stare at him in a combination of shock and euphoria as his hands landed on his hips.

 

 

Smith grunted at the pressure and went still as he waited to adjust. Everything he’d gone through was worth it for this view of Chief flustered, subdued, and completely entranced with him. Smith started to move, but the discomfort was still a little much.

 

 

Chief’s hands clenched on his hips to make sure he stayed still. “J-just give it a minute, kid. There’s no rush.” There was a sheen of sweat across Chief’s forehead as he panted.

 

 

“I w-want to make you feel good.”

 

 

Chief huffed humorously. “Oh, I feel really fucking good. Trust me. I am not in misery right now.” His eyes fluttered closed when Smith moved against him when he leaned forward to start working open the buttons on his shirt. It took him a few seconds to catch on and help him remove his tie. Smith winced as Chief kicked his pants down his legs and sat up on his elbows to work his way out of his jacket and shirt. Chief was a lot more patient than Christian had frightened him into thinking he wouldn’t be.

 

 

Smith’s attention traveled across Chief’s body in fascination before returning to worship his every subtle facial expression. His eye darted to Chief’s jacket, and he reached for it. Chief arched a brow when he slid it onto his arms and hugged it like he was wrapping Chief’s arms around him.

 

 

Smith inhaled deeply and closed his eye. “Chief. I wanna be yours.”

 

 

Chief’s cock throbbed inside him at the image of his clothes draped around his naked body. The kid kept following his impulses and had no idea just how hard he was affecting him. He didn’t realize he was pushing up into him until Smith made a noise that sounded both uncomfortable and fulfilled. It was pretty clear the kid had no idea what he was supposed to do next. He shivered as Chief sat up and braced a hand against his back to hold him in place.

 

 

Chief swallowed heavily to steady himself. Maybe he’d ask Smith later why he was already lubed up and worked open enough take him all the way in. He’d like to watch him flush while he explained it to him. At that moment, though, he needed to get him into a position to get him off so he could be sure the kid wanted to do this with him again; often.

 

 

He supported Smith’s weight as he turned with him, lowering him onto his back on the bed. He dutifully ignored the random squeaks from the fucking toys Smith had around them that were making Chief feel a little more like a creeper than he was comfortable with, and instead he focused on the heavy lust the younger cop was aiming at him as he took control. His lips were parted, and his lid was heavy. Chief leaned in to kiss him, but he hesitated just short of his destination when Smith wriggled a little too desperately in anticipation. He was making the most addictive little shuddering noises of excitement, but Chief didn’t make him wait long.

 

 

Smith’s back arched as Chief’s lips connected with his. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, but they moved over his head like he was cuffed there since it’s what he’d learned to do.

 

 

“You can touch me, kid.” Chief kissed his way down his neck and then up to his ear. Smith’s hands flew to his shoulders, and then fanned across his back and down his sides as if he wanted to memorize every inch of him with his fingertips. “There you go. That’s a good boy.”

 

 

Smith whimpered loud and his body clenched around Chief’s cock causing him to groan and start moving inside him. Chief made a mental note that saying that to him was likely to push him over the edge sooner than later, so he should use it sparingly no matter how bad he knew the kid wanted to hear it. He also noted that the way Smith was chanting his name was doing it for the both of them. He rocked against him experimentally until Smith gasped and jerked, and then he repeated the angle.

 

 

“Oh god, Chief! I want it! Please, I want it!” Smith’s hand unconsciously reached to touch himself, and Chief almost didn’t catch him in time.

 

 

“No you don’t-” Chief scrambled for his hands and shuddered as Smith began to writhe against him as he pressed them out to his sides. “Here. Look at me, here.” He locked his attention on him. “Slow. Let it feel good.” He moved rhythmically, shaking with the effort of pacing himself as he continued to hit the right place over and over again, but pulling back just short of causing the kid to lose it.

 

 

“Chief, please...I can’t take it...fuck me! I want it! I want you-” Smith cried as he stayed lost in Chief’s intense eyes. Chief’s body pumped a little harder without his own permission as the kid kept begging him. “Chief! Yes! Fuck me...deeper...I want it! M-more, please! I want you to come. I want to feel it-”

 

 

“Holy...” Chief’s lungs were threatening to stop working as his innocent partner kept overwhelming him with most desperate erotic begging that Chief had rarely even dared to imagine when he allowed Smith to cross his thoughts in the shower. He realized suddenly that it’s not like he had to draw this out. They could take their time later. The kid was on the verge of coming already and it seemed almost painful for him. He picked up his pace, and Smith keened urgently as he watched Chief start losing himself to the sensations he was getting from him.

 

 

“P-please! Chief! I need it! I need it-” Smith sighed gratefully when Chief released his arms and shifted to give him more room to touch himself while he pumped into him. One hand shot down to stroke himself while the other clamped around Chief’s body. “Deep...please...Chief...harder...”

 

 

Chief’s voice broke as he did what the kid asked of him. “I’m close-” Chief groaned long when that was enough to make Smith blow all over himself while calling out Chief’s name like it was a lifeline to ground him in reality.

 

 

He was beautiful falling apart beneath him, and Chief was done for. Smith’s body was still stiff with his climax when Chief pushed into him and stilled. The kid’s vision had gone distant with his release, but when he realized Chief was coming, both his hands gripped his body to pull him deeper, and this completely enraptured expression glossed over his features like he’d just seen a fucking unicorn or something.

 

 

Smith was already breathless when Chief captured his mouth and kissed him into a limp puddle. They both gasped for air as Chief dropped to the side and gathered him close.

 

 

“I couldn’t get to you.” Chief clutched him too tightly. “Someone had you, Smith, a bad someone, and I didn’t know where to find you. It was fucking hell. I couldn’t find you,” he repeated before his lungs hitched. He cupped the back of his head so he wouldn’t be able to see the tears that were escaping him. “But you did it. Somehow, kid, you made that fucking crazy bastard just...just let you go. He just let you come back to me.”

 

 

Smith clung to him in return. “I didn’t mean to worry you, Chief. I’m sorry. I’m okay, though! Everything’s okay!” Chief could hear the smile on his lips.

 

 

He finally released him, and he stuffed his hand inside his jacket around Smith’s body to get his flask. He rolled to his back and tipped it to his lips. They were quite for a time as their hearts slowed. Chief offered the flask to Smith, and of course he accepted it. He took the tiniest of sips before hissing and coughing, but he gathered himself fairly well as he handed it back to Chief.

 

 

“We don’t have to go back to the precinct if you don’t want to. I know it’s hard to face him. I could go, or I can stay with you if you need.”

 

 

“Oh, no! It’s okay now. I played a questions game with Christian, and he was just threatening to tell my secret, is all, and it was making me kind of nervous.”

 

 

“What secret?” He pressed the flask to his lips.

 

 

“He asked me what I think about when I touch myself, and I had to answer him because I promised, and I told him that I think about you.” Smith flinched when Chief spit out his drink. They both covered their faces as liquor rained down over them. “But now I don’t have to worry about it, because you know. Right?”

 

 

Chief choked as he nodded, and then he dropped his head to the side to study his partner. He was glad their encounter had meant more than just some kind of desperate longing from an inexperienced youth to be touched and him not understanding it, or an emotionally vulnerable drop in facade that meant Chief had somehow taken advantage of the kid by not fighting harder against it.

 

 

“Alright.” Chief sighed. “Let’s see if I can drag any information out of the bastard that will clue us in on what he’s planning next so maybe I can at least try to stop it when they let him go. Maybe I can get a lead on what keeps happening to make everyone forget about him.”

 

 

Back at the precinct, Bart stared at his trembling hands before scanning around the empty room for the thousandth time. His eyes avoided the two-way glass, because he was afraid that there was someone behind it who’s attention would be drawn to him if he looked in that direction. He wished that they’ve given him some paper to doodle on and busy his hands. He pulled the shock blanket that Smith had draped around his shoulders tighter around him for comfort.

 

 

Was he ever going to see Christian again, or would he wind up in prison now? Would the priest go to a mental institution? Could Bart visit him there? Write to him? Would Christian write back? Was Bart in trouble? Would Christian tell them he was his hostage, or would he try to bring Bart down with him? Bart wasn’t going to say anything at all. Christian had told him to stay quiet and use his very real panic as an excuse not to think clearly enough speak straight.

 

 

He hugged himself as more tears ran down his puffy eyes. Maybe that strange corporation Christian worked for would get him out of this again. He would probably forget about Bart and just leave him there. What if they made Bart forget about Christian? He jolted when the door opened and a man in a black suit and red tie walked in.

 

 

The man only aimed dark sunglasses at the artist, presumably to kill him from a heart attack. He glanced behind him, waited another few seconds, and then pushed the door open further. Bart’s eyes lit up when Christian rounded the corner. The serial killer stopped and narrowed his eyes at Bart’s pleased expression, but then he seemed to gather himself.

 

 

“Come on, Bart.” Christian aggressively yanked the artist to his feet and dragged him out the door and down the hallway. He called over his shoulder to the man in a suit. “I’m going to need a ride. Get one of those fucking vans or something.”

 

 

Bart looked around them at the busy precinct. So many cops, and they were all just letting the priest waltz right out of there. He looked back to Christian in awe as if he was a god.

 

 

Christian flinched when he caught the look. “What?”

 

 

Bart shook his head, and then he twisted his hand to grab onto Christian’s wrist in return. Christian stopped cold as he found himself holding hands with the artist, and Bart almost ran into him. The criminal didn’t look at him, which almost seemed like a threat over Bart’s affectionate gesture, but then again, he didn’t release his hold on Bart, either.

 

 

“Christian!” Smith called from across the room.

 

 

 Christian cursed as the two boy scouts quickly approached them. “What the fuck do you want?” He scowled at Chief, who stopped further away from him than Smith as the kid came right up to him with a warm smile.

 

 

Christian looked the kid up and down, and then he released Bart and tangled a hand in Smith’s shirt to yank him closer. Chief’s hands balled into fists as Christian leaned in and took a deep breath to smell his partner. The priest’s gnashing jaw softened slightly as he leaned in to murmur where only Smith could hear.

 

 

“You smell like him. You did it then? You told him?” He should have kept his eyes on Chief, but for some reason Smith’s eternal civility and gentle nature blinded him. Smith nodded like he was proud of himself, and Christian moaned his approval. “That’s a good boy-HEY!” Christian whipped around as Chief dragged Bart away from him.

 

 

Bart clutched at his chest in panic as he was taken out of Christian’s reach and the intimidating cop pushed him behind him. He moved to go back to Christian when the criminal snapped for him to do so as if Bart had purposefully walked away from him, but Chief held an arm up to stop him.

 

 

Chief’s stern jaw was set. “If he’s not your hostage, then you won’t mind if he just stands over here for a second away from you.” Chief’s eyes lit up when Christian moved like he might reach for his gun, which some idiot had given back to him. “Do it, you piece of garbage! Give me a reason! Draw on me!”

 

 

Christian’s fingers flexed helplessly as he looked around the wide-open space full of cops. Smith started to coo at Chief to talk sense into him, and Christian bruised the kid’s arm stopping him from moving away from him.

 

 

“Give him back, or so help me, old man...”

 

 

“You can’t do anything here.” Chief growled in satisfaction and looked to Bart. “You don’t have to go with him. I can protect you. I don’t know why everyone else forgets, but I remember. I won’t let him hurt you if you want to get away. Now’s your chance. He’s hanging onto Smith, but he can’t take him. He can’t draw on us without taking every bullet in this room in his chest. You’re safe, kid. You don’t have to go with him,” he repeated.

 

 

“Bart.” Christian’s voice wasn’t as sharp as usual as he sighed in agitation. “Bart...come to me.” He held out his hand as if he was coaxing a scared animal. Chief stopped Bart from moving again, and Christian cursed and shoved Smith towards him. “L-let him go.” He wasn’t sure what to do when there was no release for his temper. “Bart, get over here!”

 

 

“I know you feel compelled to do what he says,” Chief reasoned with the artist when he had to stop him again. “It’s because he’s messed with your head. He’s conditioned you to believe he’s your safety and comfort when he’s actually the thing that puts you in danger. Why don’t you let us sit you with a counselor for an hour or so to get your head on straight. You can leave whenever you want. There’s no commitment. If he really cares about you, then you can simply meet up with him later, and he won’t see anything wrong with you taking a little time to step back. If he truly means well for you, he won’t have any problem with having someone tell you what they’re seeing from an outside perspective.”

 

 

Bart couldn’t quite find the courage to look directly at the hardened cop even though he was saying kind things to him. Smith rested a hand on Bart’s shoulder and nodded in encouragement. He told the artist everything was alright, and that he was safe, and then he fucking hugged Bart because the artist burst into tears.

 

 

Christian’s hands tangled in his own hair and he pulled at it in helpless frustration. He didn’t even care that there were tears running down his own cheeks now. They were of rage, he told himself, not of fear of losing his only friend; his lover. After all, was he ever truly his to begin with if he could be coaxed away from him?

 

 

“Fine. Fucking fine!” Christian ground his teeth. “Call me, Bart. Just...just fucking call me or something, then!” Christian hated how desperate that sounded. He spat at Chief’s feet and turned on heel to leave. His fingers itched to reach for his gun as he took long strides towards the front door. Maybe he wouldn’t mind a doomed fucking shootout with a room full of cops at the moment. That’s what it felt like was happening to his heart.

 

 

A hand slid into his, and at first Christian thought that one of the cops were trying to stop him again. He spun around and froze as Bart bumped into him and stumbled back. The artist looked terrified and confused, but he tightened his grip on Christian’s hand.

 

 

Bart was as needy as ever, and Christian barely stopped himself from kissing the insecurity right off his face as the artist searched the priest’s unreadable scowl. Bart seemed more comforted than frightened when Christian’s hand crushed his and his other hand clamped onto his wrist for good measure before he dragged him from the building.

 

 

An agent opened a van door just outside, and Christian shoved Bart inside before climbing in behind him. He pulled the door closed, ordered them to take them to Bart’s house, and then turned toward the artist to cram a threatening finger in his face. Bart winced and then fell back when Christian leaned toward him, but then Christian was kissing him.

 

 

Back inside the precinct, Smith had just learned that Oculus was the agency who had freed Christian. He was in Chief’s office sobbing his heart out thinking it was his fault for calling them so early on that the priest had escaped before Chief had enough time to question the criminal.

 

 

“A-and on top of that, you wasted the time you did have with him chasing me down while I had a tantrum!”

 

 

Smith was crying far too loud, and Chief hurried to close the blinds so no one would look in on them. He locked the door, but he wanted even more privacy to comfort the kid. Smith was still bawling when Chief dragged him into the coat closet and started shushing him.

 

 

Smith blinked rapidly as he found himself smack in the middle of his fantasy. “Um, Ch-chief?” He sniffled.

 

 

Chief was looking at him like he’d always dreamed. He wasn’t wishing he’d just go away. He wasn’t angry with him or judging him for messing up again. One hand snaked around Smith’s waist to pull him closer, and the other one slid along his jaw to make him look at him.

 

 

“Kid, you did fine. Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t your fault.” He kissed his temple and didn’t notice how hard the kid was squirming in his arms or how fast his breathing had become. He whispered in his ear. “You’re an excellent cop, and you’re a good kid.”

 

 

“I’m...I’m...Chief...say it...” Smith’s hands were kneading his arms pitifully, and it was only then that Chief realized just how worked up the kid had gotten for some odd reason.

 

 

He didn’t want to question his luck over how he wound up with an innocent, highly sensitive, worshipful little boy-toy fawning over him so hard. He simply gave him what he wanted. He whispered in his ear again, and Smith’s hips jerked forward. Chief pressed his knee between his legs and groaned when the kid started rutting desperately against the pressure like he just couldn’t stop himself. He cursed and sank his lips on his to swallow the urgent mewling noises that might be traveling out into his office. The kiss was all it took to make Smith’s knees buckle and his body seize up. Chief pressed him against the wall to hold him up as the kid cried out in ecstasy into his mouth as his wildest dreams were fulfilled.

 

 

 


End file.
